In the Spirit by Spookykat and Scully3776
by Spookykat
Summary: Special Agent John Doggett goes home for the holidays and the ghosts of Christmases past help solve his brotherinlaw's murder


Title: In the Spirit   
  
Authors: Scully3776 and Spookykat  
Rating: R (Lang. content, explicit material)   
Summary: Doggett goes home for the holidays.   
'Tis the season to be…mourning?  
Archive: Gossamer, xfc, XFMU, fanfiction.net, and   
www.geocities.com/phantmoftheopera/index.html.   
Anywhere else, please refrain from doing so   
unless we send a hard copy to you, or you have   
our expressed permission.  
Don't forget to feed the authors:   
Scully3776- Scully03776@aol.com  
Spookykat- Suicidal_mickey_mouse@hotmail.com  
Legal Crap: If you're on a site like this, you're   
probably smart enough to know the difference   
between the characters who belong to me, and the   
characters through which I live vicariously,   
wishing they didn't belong to the ever-tasteful   
Fox-network, the never-consistent 1013   
Productions, and all that jazz. Just in case I DO   
have to spell it out for you. Here goes:  
Mine: Melanie Eleanor Doggett Davis, Parker   
Stewart Davis, Cy Lewis, Dexter Gillroy,   
Christina Jolynn Doggett Strand, Laura Eleanor   
Strand, Stephen Ray Doggett, and Eleanor 'Ma'   
Doggett  
Scully3776: Dr. Jerilyn Michelle Bailey   
Starkweather, Benjamin Lucas Starkweather, Dr.   
Delilah 'Loki' Lewis-Kollervo, Lindsay Buckle   
Amos  
Please do not use these characters without our   
expressed permission, otherwise, Cave Caesarem-  
Felinus! (Beware of Caesar the Cat!)  
1013'S: FBI Special Agents Dana Scully, John   
Doggett, Monica Reyes, Fox Mulder.  
Authors' notes: I plan to be consistent with the   
real plot, but all of this is speculation, and I   
refuse to read spoilers. If s9 reveals new   
developments within the life of Doggett, well,   
then, *blows virtual raspberry*  
We took creative license and stuck a 'year'   
between season8 and 9. Only thing off time-wise   
is Doggett's age. Since Starkweather only makes   
a cameo, it is part of the series. This comes   
right after the events of Starkweather: Meum Mel   
III (Nothing Else Matters), and Starkweather:   
Inheritance. It is not necessary for you to have   
read the series to appreciate this, since it   
began as a separate entity of the Starkweather   
Universe, and the Starkweather characters only   
make a cameo.  
A biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig huge thank you   
to Editing Goddess Bqueen09 for editing this!!!   
*************************************************   
J. Edgar Hoover Bldg.   
Dec. 21, 2001, 3:01pm   
********************   
"John," Reyes said across her desk, tone trying   
to disguise a certain note of pity. "I'm gonna   
type this case report up and then head out,   
unless you've got something else you want me to   
do. I've got a flight scheduled out to Texas in   
about 3 hours and airports are gonna be hell."   
"You uh...go ahead and go, Mon." He mumbled over   
his computer. "The airports are gonna be hell."   
"John, if you need to talk--." she said softly   
"The security's gonna be tougher to pass through   
than The Cowboy's Defense. Get going."   
"John...you know you're welcome in Texas if you   
need a place to spend Christmas." She offered,   
trying unsuccessfully to sound like she didn't   
feel sorry for him.   
"No...just got work to finish up..." He lied.   
"I've got plans to spend Christmas Eve with my   
brothers and sister back in Georgia."   
"Make sure to bring the mistletoe. I'm sure your   
sis misses some puppy-love." Reyes chided with an   
evil grin spreading across her face. "Call if you   
need anything." Unlike most people, she said it   
like she really meant it. Deciding to abandon the   
issue, she turned and left, wishing him a Merry   
Christmas as she closed the door behind her.   
Doggett was only half-aware that she was gone.   
His attention was preoccupied with the email he   
was reading. The only the shrill phone knocked   
him back into the present.   
"John," the woman on the other line hesitated,   
emitting a shaky sigh.   
"Mel," Doggett growled, messaging his eyelids, "I   
don't have time for this crap."   
"Park's dead, John." She said tearily. "He had   
AIDS...but I don't think that's what killed him."   
"What makes you say that?" He already knew the   
answer, but he somehow needed verification.   
"You know they hated him John. I   
think...something happened."'   
"I'm on my way." He finally said, hung up the   
phone, grabbed his coat, sighed heavily, and   
locked the Basement office for the weekend.   
  
Two hours later.   
O'Hare National Airport   
*******************   
Reyes' prediction had been right.   
The airport was hell.   
The last full business day of Christmas had   
ushered in hoards upon hoards of people, leaving   
haggard baggage attendants almost resembling a   
paper bag that had been blowing against a cold,   
wet, deserted street-gutter. Check-ins that   
normally took fifteen-minutes tops took an hour   
and a half.   
And the shit that beat it all was that he   
actually hadda take off his shoes because some   
damn idiot decided to plant bombs in his   
sneakers...   
He hoped they would at least let him carry his   
briefcase onto the plane. After she called, she   
had forwarded a .Zip file to him with a fax of   
the police report and newspaper clippings.   
"Is nothing fucking sacred these days?" He sighed   
as he slipped into his FBI-Approved loafers.   
He hadn't wanted to go home for Christmas this   
year. His friends and family back home were so   
different from the life he had made for   
himself...so normal...like life is supposed to   
be.   
They would probably resurrect the subjects that   
thorned him the most...the complete families that   
waited him there were only bitter, constant   
reminders of a failed attempt at a normal, happy,   
well-adjusted, American-dream-ish life...the   
murder of his boy...the divorce...   
But his sister's frantic plea on the other end of   
the line had worried him. Melanie Doggett Davis   
was a very trusting woman who, unlike his co-  
workers, wasn't prone to paranoia. The e-mail she   
had sent him and his resulting distraction had   
probably confused the hell out of Monica, and he   
admonished himself the whole way back to his   
apartment for keeping personal business out of   
the office.   
He only hoped that as her brother, Melanie would   
forgive him if he couldn't prove he was murdered.   
And, he wished flippantly, a flight without a   
terrorist attack wouldn't hurt, either.  
  
American Airlines Flight 689   
En Route from Newark   
*****************************   
Connector flights made absolutely no sense to   
Doggett. A flight that started in Washington   
landing in Newark to go to Atlanta...   
nope...didn't seem any part of logical at all. It   
was like getting around to somebody's ass by   
their elbows.   
So, Doggett resigned himself to the briefcase   
that the grouchy stewardess had stingily allowed   
him to keep, and tried to stop being Doggett and   
prepare for being John again...to stop being   
senior officer assigned to the X-Files in a job   
that made absolutely no sense to him most of the   
time and prepare for being Big Brother/Little   
Brother John again in a family that barely made   
sense to him all of the time.   
Terminator2 showing on the in-flight movie seemed   
like a friendlier option.   
And it was a small comfort that logic or no, he   
had a place there...a purpose...a fight.   
Something that was somewhat absent from his   
current employment. But since when was a job a   
crusade?   
They were all gone. He didn't know how he got off   
the plane, but he must have, because they were   
gone.   
The strangers sitting on either side of him in   
his Coach-class seat in closer proximity than he   
personally preferred, the sour-faced, overweight   
stewardesses acting more liked they belonged in a   
rude greasy New York Diner out of Seinfeld as   
opposed to plane-full of demanding, antsy   
passengers were replaced by people who looked   
vaguely familiar...slurping down beer   
cans...driving a rebuilt Chevy.   
"C'mon Dex! Let's go by that diner the cocksucker   
works at and teach that queer a lesson!   
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!   
Doggett's mind was reeling through the   
possibilities...Dexter Gillroy was killed in 'Nam   
last he heard. How the fuck is a dead guy   
driving a rebuilt Chevy that got hauled off to a   
junk mill   
"Cy, ain't that his pick-up passin' us?" Someone   
else slurred.   
"Boys, I think we got us a homohunt. Gotta rid   
this God-fearin' country of all the sick-o's.   
Raht J.D.?"   
"I think you guys need to walk it off..." Doggett   
said feebly.   
"The HELL we gonna walk it off," Dex yelled, "Dat   
Parker fucker's gonna go BURN tonight!"   
"What is WITH you tonight, JD?" Cy demanded.   
"You're his bitch aintchya?"   
Doggett glowered at him and curled his lower lip   
threateningly, and tightened his jaw. "Cy..." his   
voice was all low and gravelly and was almost   
reminiscent of thunder. "If you don't let me the   
hell out of this car right now, you are gonna be   
MY bitch in two seconds...GOT IT?"   
The tires screeched, and the dark pavement burned   
with engine sparks, glass busted, and the pick-up   
truck in front of them careened off the   
guardrail.   
Time warp...that's the only answer I can think   
of Doggett puzzled. Then he mumbled under his   
breath, "It's just a jump to the left..." as he   
saw Parker Davis climb out from underneath the   
wreckage.   
The young man's small frame turned to face   
Doggett. "You think you can get Mel and get me to   
a hospital?" He shouted from the bottom of the   
hill. "I'm having a hard time keeping focus..."  
John finally hitched a ride that night from a   
bartender coming home from closing his bar on his   
way home and woke up the whole house trying to   
get home that night.   
Parker Davis went from 17 to 37 that night. For   
the first time in his life, John Doggett wanted   
to be away from where he was. He would have   
rather been anywhere but that Marietta hospital.   
"You know, John," Parker had said while they were   
waiting for Parker's older sister to come sign   
the papers for treatment, "I didn't know that   
being a pimple-faced virgin made you a target."   
"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those   
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight." John had   
said with a sigh. Parker gave him an imploring   
look in reply. "They're scared outta their asses   
that you're contagious."   
"Mr. Parker," John and Parker had both exchanged   
incredulous glances, and what annoyed Parker even   
more, was that the intern speaking to them "you   
sustained quite a lot of internal bleeding, we're   
going to hafta give you a transfusion, and then   
you'll be ready to go home." A tired intern said,   
not even looking at his patient.   
"Yay." Parker said, rolling his eyes. "Just how I   
wanted to spend my weekend! Hooked up to an IV   
with a big-ass needle at the end of it. I HATE   
hospitals...I hate needles..." his voice trailed   
off."   
"John...What the HELL is going on here!" Parker's   
depressed reverie was rudely, albeit gratefully,   
slapped out of him.   
"And the charming young lady is my sister,   
Melanie." John introduced dryly.   
"What the fuck did I tell ya 'bout rahdin' around   
with Cy and all theyum idiots." The same way most   
people say 'What'd the doctor say.' A frustrated   
sigh emitted from the Melanie, and then when she   
saw the situation, her voice softened. "Stevie   
got me up to get you back home...come on John..."   
Melanie had a natural talent for changing the   
subject in mid-sentence. "I--I know you from   
school, don't I?" She directed to Parker.   
"Yeah, I'm the local pimple-faced-eternal-virgin-  
turned-fag." Melanie hadn't even blinked at his   
answer. "But don't worry, I'm not as advertised."   
That night was the beginning and the end for   
Melanie and Parker. If he had gotten there   
moments before...maybe AIDS didn't have to be the   
finishing line for them...   
But enough of maybes and what-ifs. They didn't   
help what happened.   
And as Doggett's plane descended into the   
Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta, the   
desperation of needing to get out of Atlanta   
suffocated him again--the same suffocation that   
nearly made it impossible to breathe that night   
in Hartsfield medical hospital wasn't going to go   
away without a fight.   
  
Dec. 23, 7:44   
I-16 Hartsfield Int'l Airport   
Atlanta Ga.   
*************************************************  
*********   
John snaked his way through crowds of people and   
didn't have to crane his head to see his sister   
waiting at his gate.   
"Sorry the flights late, Mel." John apologized   
less than sincerely. "The weather stalled us in   
Newark."   
"Checked in anything?" She stated more than   
asked, and tried not to make contact. "Come on,   
wait here, and I'll go get the truck."   
"Melanie, I'm sorry..."   
"John, you have nothing to be sorry *for* you did   
what you could for him...for us...Merry   
Christmas, by the way. You gonna let us stand   
here on the sidewalk forever or you wanna let me   
get the truck? I hadda park out in the boonies."   
It was a seasonable 40 degrees standing on the   
sidewalk in front of the airport, which was   
definitely something Doggett had missed in D.C.   
It wasn't long before Melanie pulled her F350 to   
the curb. There was enough room in the back for   
his suitcase, so he dumped it unceremoniously   
back behind him.   
They headed out for I-75 toward Marietta in   
uncomfortable silence. Melanie had the radio on,   
and it was several minutes of Christmas Carols   
and really loud car commercials before Melanie   
finally spoke so she could stay awake.   
"How's Barbara?" She asked politely enough.   
"It's over...almost two years now..." Doggett   
didn't even have to contain his bitterness. It   
wasn't there. "She may have been the one to   
actually cheat...but I had just as much to do   
with the marriage going to shit as she was. After   
Luke...we just felt apart. Caught her with a grad   
student..." He trailed off.   
"If you need to talk..." She began tenderly, but   
the clinch of his jaw out of the corner of her   
eye told her it was wiser to leave it alone.   
"Leave the past buried, ok?" He defended. Then   
softer, when he saw her glance over with a   
worried eyebrow raised, he told her "I'm alright   
with it."   
"John, if you were alright with it you would've   
moved on to another girl by now." She persisted.   
"You're the grieving widow here, Mel..." John   
insisted. Then as an excuse, he added "I've gotta   
get my luggage."   
"Right." There was an uncomfortable silence that   
unsettled them until they had been on the highway   
for an hour.   
Melanie, unable to be hypnotized by the deserted   
two-lane state highway, finally broke the   
silence. "I've been doing research since it   
happened...if we can't nail those dickheads for   
murder, then we can sure as hell sue their asses   
off for grievances, funeral costs, and medical   
care. It's the new millennium, isn't it? People   
understand now about that kinda thing."   
"Don't they?" John grumbled. "Melanie...you're   
forgetting. I was in the truck with them that   
night. If you sue them...the defendants are gonna   
call me up and put me at the scene...they could   
just as easily call me on his injuries."   
"How do you like D.C.?"   
"Better'n New York, that's for damn sure." John   
snorted. "You can see the sky there. Where I live   
just outside in Virginia, feels almost like   
home...but it's crazy as hell. What I'm doin' in   
the FBI there...that's fucked up shit."   
"You kiss mama with that mouth, John?" Melanie   
teased.   
"Melanie...if you knew half the stuff I've seen   
this year...I think you'd understand that fucked   
up shit is the ONLY way to describe my caseload.   
Whatchya pullin' over for?"   
"Gotta get gas..."   
"John..." Melanie began as soon as they were   
headed back on I-16 bound for Atlanta, "you may   
be able to sidestep your Marine buddies, your cop   
buddies, and your new partners at the FBI...but   
if you think you can get off so easy as all that,   
you need to tell me where the hell my baby   
brother is. You've barely said a word the whole   
way...I know you...you were the same way when   
Daddy died. Now spill it, or I'm pulling the   
truck over till you decide to tell me."   
"That's extortion." John grumbled.   
"No, it's not extortion. I believe the correct   
term is blackmail. You're stalling..." now in a   
gentler tone of voice, and her own ice-crystal   
blue eyes met her brother's. "John...you can't   
just keep it all bottled up."   
He let out a sigh as if releasing some of the air   
would make the words come out easier.   
"After what happened with Luke...I kept seeing   
him in her." He turned away, looking deliberately   
out of his passenger window, realizing that   
Luke's blue eyes were staring back at him again.   
"I kept seeing his nose, his smile..." His   
gravelly voice was now hoarse. "I just couldn't   
face her...and I think she needed someone to lean   
on then without her son's eyes."   
"John...with or without Luke's eyes...ever think   
she might have wanted YOUR help to pick her up   
the pieces?" Melanie wondered aloud.   
"That's the thing, Melanie...when Luke was   
missing, I'd find her in his room after coming   
home from work, and she wouldn't come out unless   
she had appointments or had to make appearances.   
I thought work would save me--save us." His voice   
was shaky now. The words were labored and   
emotionless. "Once I found the bastard who killed   
him, it'd be over and we could go back to normal.   
We went to those fucking church counselors and   
the grieving parents classes...but really it was   
just going through the motions. Pretty soon, we   
barely said anything...'cept for the kinda things   
you say to be polite. Then I spent more and more   
time at work...and I think I barely noticed some   
guy ravaging her on the couch. I think that was   
just the breaking point."   
"And the FBI chick who helped in the New York   
investigation with Luke? She didn't have anything   
to do with it?"   
"No!" He fired back, too immediately for it to be   
a lie. "I was married for Christ's sake."   
"You're a MAN for Christ's sake! I'm not blind,   
John. I was up there when she came by your house   
that day."   
"Oh come on! Just because the equipment's all   
there doesn't mean I turn it on every time it   
lights up." He said a little too defensively for   
Melanie's liking. "I thought...that if I kept my   
vows, I wouldn't hurt her." He raked his right   
hand across his forehead. "Guess it wasn't   
enough..."   
"That's enough John..." she said softly, and then   
with deliberation. "We're here. Get your suitcase   
and I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."  
The house hadn't changed since he saw it the last   
time. He brought Barbara there with his son. It   
was a few seconds before he could muster the   
cheer to go in.   
"Last Christmas Luke had was here, Mel..." he   
said thoughtfully.   
"So was Daddy's...so was Grandmama's..." Melanie   
pointed out.   
"When's Parker's funeral?"   
"Day after Christmas, John..." Melanie said   
softly, glad he wasn't able to read her   
expression. "You did right by him, ya know. He   
never blamed you for what happened. We never   
blamed you." Then she opened his mother's front   
door. "Look who the cat dragged in!"   
"John, glad you're home son." His mother greeted   
him coolly. Now climbing the 80's, she had always   
been Victorian in her emotions, but when she   
*did* tell you what she felt, it was taken to   
heart.   
As soon as his feet hit the Brady Bunch green   
linoleum, on the kitchen, he was bombarded by   
outstretched arms "Johnny Angel! Merry Christmas,   
big brother!"   
"Merry Christmas to you, Chris." He tried his   
best to at least pretend to be happy for their   
sake.   
Just then, a girl with long dark curls wrapped   
herself around his knee. "How's my favorite   
niece?" He said, hoisting her up.   
"A lot better if mom would let me stay up later   
tonight."   
"Nothin' doin', Laura." Chris scolded.   
"Tomorrow, you gotta stay up and wait for the   
sound of bells and reindeer..." Laura gave him a   
scrutinizing look. You know, I'm a federal   
agent...I'm pretty good at negotiatin'...maybe   
your mom 'n me can work somethin' out."   
"Uncle John, you sound like those guys on NYPD   
blue now." She whined.   
"You're mom lets you watch that at your age?" She   
giggled mischievously. "Yeah...that's what they   
tell me in D.C. too. I think it'll clear up."   
A younger man stood back and observed the warm   
greetings. "Good to see ya home, Brother John."   
"Hey Steve" He said, going up to him and giving a   
firm handshake. "How's the store?" Steven, the   
oldest son, had been the natural heir to Doggett   
Motors, the auto parts and repair shop. "Chains   
are givin' us a helluva lotta heat." They weren't   
in dire straights, but they weren't out of debt.   
"Not everybody can be a service man, John." He   
answered, friendly enough.   
"Not tonight, Steve..." Melanie mumbled just in   
his earshot. "Let him be, and for Christ's sake,   
don't cuss in front of a ten year old!"   
"Mike says hello." Chris said, coming up to them.   
She had dyed her hair Nicole-Kidman-red, but she   
still looked about fifteen years older than she   
actually was. "He wanted to be here, but you know   
how mills can get." Then she turned to her   
daughter. "Look at you, Laura. It's so past your   
bed time...it's past MY bed time. Go to bed you!"   
She said and gave her a kiss.   
"I can't believe how big she's gotten." John said   
with a note of bitterness. Melanie and Chris both   
exchanged knowing glances. "It's great watchin'   
her grow up, Chris. You're doin' a great job with   
her."   
"Nice one, Baby Brother." Steve scolded as soon   
as Chris and Melanie both headed upstairs.   
"Coming to Parker Davis' funeral and not Dad's.   
You shouldda been there."   
"Steve, I hated not bein' there...but it wouldn't   
have done any damn good to Pop...funerals aren't   
for the dead."   
"No...they're for family." Steve growled,   
storming out to the kitchen.   
As if on cue, Chris came downstairs. "Mamma and   
Mel are doing charity work in the morning at the   
kiddie hospital downtown, so they're headin' to   
sleep. You wanna go say g'night to Laura?"   
"Yeah...I'd like that." He said with a labored   
smile, grabbed his suitcase, and headed up the   
stairs.  
John walked upstairs, laying his suitcase down on   
the floor next to the room he would be staying   
in. "Laura, honey, ok if I come say goodnight?"   
He knocked softly on the door.   
"Yeah, sure."   
"You think you made the A List this year?" John   
teased. He missed being able to pretend to   
believe in that capacity with little kids. "Coz   
if you didn't, one phone call, and I can getcha   
on there in a heartbeat, kiddo." He promised with   
a sly grin.   
"I think so." She paused thoughtfully. "You think   
they get presents?" she was almost afraid to ask.   
"You think who gets presents?"   
"The angels. You think Santa makes it up to   
Heaven?"   
"You don't need toys up in Heaven, Laura." He   
forgot about the hard questions kids ask.   
"Angels...spirits...don't need'em."   
"I hate sleeping in this room, Uncle John." she   
said tremulously, "It smells of Grandpa...like   
that pipe he used to smoke and something else   
that smells icky...like Grandma's rum-balls. When   
the lights are out, I keep my eyes closed as much   
as I can so I don't see anything bad. I tried to   
tell Grandma and mama, but they look at me like   
I'm crazy."   
"Seeing Grandpa's not bad, honey..." he sugar-  
coated, "just means he's watching over ya. That's   
what Angels do because they don't have any toys   
or games to play with." After all, what harm did   
a little lie do to help the kid fall asleep?   
She was silent for a little while, and Doggett   
thought she had finally gone to sleep. He got up   
from the chair by her bed, and then she spoke   
softly as he reached to open the door.   
"Uncle Steve says bad people get what they   
deserve. Did Uncle Parker?" she asked.   
"Parker wasn't bad, honey. He got sick. Kinda   
like how Grandpa got sick. Nobody's fault. Nobody   
deserves that."   
"Mommy said it was a bad man who made Luke go   
away. Is the bad man watching us too?"   
He turned to face her, the normally steel-stern   
Special Agent John Doggett was finding it hard to   
keep his composure in front of his niece. "That's   
hard to say, honey." he said shakily. "He's gone   
away too, now. He can't hurt anybody anymore. You   
better go to sleep before your Mommy finds out I   
let you stay up so late." He tried to smile, and   
then gave her a soft peck on her forehead as she   
cocooned herself under the covers and turned out   
the lamp on the bed stand.   
He left the door open just a crack and stood   
outside her door carefully so she wouldn't notice   
him watching her. He jumped when the door blew   
shut.   
"This house has always been drafty." Steve said   
coming up the stairs, and placed a firm, friendly   
hand on his shoulder. "See ya in the mornin'."   
John nodded goodnight, then walked down the hall   
to his room, which hadn't changed much since he   
was 16.   
A signed pictures of The Eagles, Ray Charles,   
Reba McEntire, Charlie Daniels, James Brown, and   
Ted Williams, high school football team awards,   
framed boy scout commendations and high school   
diploma, double bed covered in blue pin-striped   
plaid, and even his old Playboy stash was still   
where he hid it underneath the bed.   
The memory of bringing his new bride from New   
York City back to meet his parents for the first   
time flooded to the forefront of his thoughts.   
And the awkward, exciting challenge of making   
love in your childhood bedroom. Making love to   
her there was like some giant Oedipean complex--  
he was completely grossed out by and completely   
turned on to the idea at the same time.   
The train of thought was stopped by the sudden,   
irrepressible urge to check on his niece.   
Suddenly, honeymoonish memories were pushed back   
by a completely unrelated, protective impulse. He   
grabbed an old baseball bat and stealthily crept   
down the darkened hallway towards her room.   
In front of her door, the sight of his own blue   
eyes and Sarah's nose rendered him frozen.  
John wanted to move. He wanted desperately some   
sort of verification that what he was seeing was   
real, but it was as though his feet were glued to   
the ground.   
"Luke?" He managed to gasp finally, but it was   
too late, he was gone.   
He looked in on his niece, apparently oblivious   
to everything going on around her. He went to the   
bathroom, needing to feel the cold tiles on his   
feet, a splash of water. Some hard proof that he   
wasn't in some sort of dream.   
Deciding it was useless now to sleep, he made his   
way down the stairs. Parker's wake was going to   
be tomorrow. Then Christmas Eve Service. It would   
be a very long day.   
It had seemed like a century since he climbed   
down those stairs. Nothing had changed. The smell   
of wood-cleaners, his dad's pipe and cologne, his   
mother's perfume still lingered toward the great   
room.   
He remembered walking in on his mother setting up   
Christmas presents in the morning after hearing   
some wrestling downstairs the Christmas before he   
left for the USMC.   
"Mom, I think we're all pretty well aware that   
Santa Claus is just a fairy tale. Chris is old   
enough to know how to drive a car next year,   
she's old enough to know the truth."   
"John, some free advice." she said frankly, "In   
this world, most of what's worth believing in has   
no hard proof to back it up with. People need the   
pretty lies to wrap themselves around more than   
they need the ugly truth starring them in the   
face."   
"Santa Claus is a story for retail stores, Mom."   
"Yeah, and when she knows I don't care about   
Santa Claus anymore... what's next? God? Our   
family?"   
"Sooner she knows the truth, the better, Mom."   
"You mean the sooner she knows the truth, the   
better for you."   
He went past the old inherited secretary in the   
family room to head to the kitchen. A   
businesslike folded envelope was open in the   
front to the bank with his Dad's shop heading on   
it. He would wait till tomorrow to glance over   
it, and stuffed into his pocket for the time   
being.   
Right then, though...he needed something to   
straighten his nerves.  
He searched through the kitchen, careful not to   
make any clinks or creeks to stir anybody. He   
knew Steve or Melanie had to have booze stashed   
someplace. He really didn't wanna see anyone at   
that moment, and he certainly didn't wanna be   
caught getting lit.   
He was a grown man, yes. And old enough to But at   
1121 Palmetto Drive, he may as well have been   
sixteen. His 80 year old mother half his height   
still had more muscle over him than the Deputy   
Director of the FBI. With the kitchen lights   
turned off, he managed to find a bottle of Jack,   
and the glasses were in easy reach.   
Jack Daniels went flying up to his chin when the   
kitchen lights turned on.   
"What the hell are you still doing up?" His older   
sister demanded from the doorway.   
"Mel, don't sneak up on a detective like that!   
We're trained to be jumpy."   
"You ok? You look a little...thin..." she   
observed, getting a glass for herself, and   
pouring herself a double.   
At a questioning eyebrow, she answered "What!?   
I've got my husband's wake to go to in the   
morning, I got an excuse."   
"They're gonna question me tomorrow, aren't   
they?" He said softly, taking a long gulp of his   
JD.   
"When I wrote you that letter before you got   
wounded in Somalia that they still thought you   
were a suspect, I thought you were an idiot to   
come back with Barbara and Luke." She took   
another long sip. "Don't ruin your career, John."   
"Mel...I may be a fed, but as far as the bureau's   
concerned, my career's already ruined. I'm pretty   
much as good as a janitor with the cases I'm   
workin' on. And you know...I think I *WAS* just   
as guilty as Cy and those boys that night. They   
wuddna cared if he died twenty years ago or two   
days ago...just as long as he could keep quiet.   
If I thought I was innocent, I wouldda stayed   
here insteadda moved to New York after the   
Marines."   
"Then make it right, John. Make it right with   
Parker by finding the truth."   
"Truth ain't always what people wanna hear, Mel."   
"Truth is NEVER what people wanna here. But we   
need those lines drawn to make sense of things.   
You know that better than anyone." She rinsed her   
glass out and put it in the sink. "I got a long   
day in the morning, John. See ya tomorrow."  
Melanie paused at the door. She turned around and   
walked back to her "little" brother, the "little"   
brother who towered over her. "Hey," she said   
softly. "what's wrong, Dumbo?" she affectionately   
reached out and tugged on one of his prolific   
ears. But her face was lined with worry. "This is   
more than just Parker."   
He shook his head, looking at his glass,   
muttering "Nuthin'," his Southern accent becoming   
more and more pronounced even in those few hours   
he spent down in Georgia.   
"Liar. Johnny... talk to me..."   
"Tired of funerals s'all," he finally mumbled   
out, draining his glass. "Been to too many of   
them..."   
Melanie pulled out a chair again and sat down   
beside him. She reached for his hand and squeezed   
it tightly. "I'm glad you're here," she said   
simply. "I've missed you..." her eyes teared up.   
"Aw, Mel," Doggett felt his face getting hot. He   
looked at the floor, but he still clung to his   
sister's hand. Remembering all the times as a   
little boy he reached for Melanie's hand when   
Daddy said he was too big to be hanging on Mama   
all the time. It was Melanie that held his hand   
when they went trick-or-treating. When they   
crossed a busy intersection. When they went to   
the recruiting office to sign him up for the   
Marines. When they drove to the crematorium after   
Luke's funeral. "I'm not much use to anyone right   
now."   
"Tell me you don't really believe that and you're   
just wallowing in a pity party," the widow   
admonished him. "John?"   
"I'm going to bed," he said abruptly, getting up.   
"Johnny, wait-"   
"Mel, it ain't 'bout me! It's 'bout you and   
Parker...and... oh, the hell with it. Good night,   
Mel."   
"John, got-dammit, wait," Mel snapped at him.   
"Don't you dare walk off like that. What is with   
you? What HAPPENED to you?"   
Doggett's shoulders slumped. "Mel," he said,   
resignation in his voice. "Let me find out what   
happened to Parker. Maybe...maybe if I can do one   
damn thing right... everything else will fall   
into place... I've got a... um... friend, back in   
DC. She's a doctor. Maybe she can give us some   
insight as to what happened if I can fax her the   
medical records."   
"Is this your friend Dr. Scully?" Melanie asked.   
"No," Doggett said bluntly, turning his back on   
her and leaving her to stand alone in the kitchen   
to wonder.   
  
Meanwhile...   
Dr. Jerilyn Starkweather's apartment   
Washington DC   
"OW! GOD DAMMIT!" she yelped as she stubbed her   
toe again on another moving box. "Son-of-a-  
bitch," Jerilyn Starkweather grumbled as she sat   
down on her coffee table and began to massage her   
foot.   
Caesar, a very orange and very ornery feline   
lifted his head up from off his paws to   
disdainfully regard his clumsy owner.   
"Fuck off," she snapped at him. Caesar gave her a   
look that said "Whatever," and placed his head   
back on his paws, falling back asleep.   
Her phone rang. Starkweather looked at her watch,   
then at the phone. "I don't think so," she   
muttered to herself darkly as she reached for a   
figurine that was sitting on her coffee table and   
began to wrap it in newspaper.   
Her machine clicked on. "Doc? Hey, it's me. Are   
ya there screening calls or asleep... Look... I   
know it's late and I'm sorry, but if you're   
there, can you pick up? Or gimme a call tomorrow   
first thing in the morning. I'd really apprecia-"   
"I'm here," she said breathlessly after bolting   
up from the coffee table and hurtling over moving   
boxes to get to her phone. "I'm here, sorry. I   
currently have my own obstacle course in my   
living room. How's home treating you?   
"Fine," Doggett tried to talk as quietly as he   
could. He was on the phone in his father's study.   
He remembered how thin the damn walls in this   
house were. He didn't want to wake anyone else   
up.   
"Liar."   
"Second time I've been called that tonight."   
"Papa John, if everything was *fine*, you would   
NOT be calling me at this ungodly hour begging me   
to pick up or to call you first thing in the   
morning."   
"Did I wake you?"   
Guiltily, Starkweather glanced over at the   
unopened bottle of prescription sleeping pills on   
her coffee table next to a collection of whatnots   
and knickknacks. "No... I've been packing."   
"HAVE you been sleeping?"   
"God dammit, Doggett, did you call me to check up   
on me?" she lashed back at him. "How many times   
do I need to fucking tell you and Mulder to back   
the hell off? I am FINE, dammit!"   
Doggett squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his   
forehead, feeling a headache sneaking up on him.   
"No. I didn't call to check up on you, I was..."   
he sighed. This was going to be extremely   
awkward. "My sister... I need some information.   
Medical information."   
"That could not have waited until the morning?"   
she bitched.   
Great, she's fucking pissed off now. Probably   
still thinks this is a half-assed excuse to check   
up on her... which it is... "No, it really   
couldn't. It's important Doc. I wouldn't have   
called if it wasn't," he snapped back at her.   
God damn it Jerilyn, I'm sorry your life is   
fucked up right now, but don't you start taking   
it out on me...   
A pause. A dreadful awkward pause. Then a sigh   
from her end. "Okay, okay... what do you need to   
know about?" She still sounded bent out of shape.   
Typical.   
"AIDS."   
"What?"   
"I need to know beyond the public service   
announcements. I everything under the sun about   
AIDS and the HIV virus." Doggett told her   
solemnly, sitting down at his father's desk.   
"About AIDS?"   
"Yeah..."   
"Just wanted to make sure I heard you right...   
you're awfully quiet, I can hardly hear you."   
"Don't wanna wake up the house."   
"Seriously, how is home treating you?" She   
sounded contrite. She must have finally realized   
what a bitch she had acted like a few minutes   
ago.   
"It could be better," he admitted gruffly.   
"I'm sorry," she sounded sincere.   
"I wish you were here," he blurted out and   
instantly wished he could take those words and   
stuff them back in his mouth.   
"Yeah... well..." Starkweather looked at the one   
picture still hanging on her wall. Her wedding   
portrait. "I... " she stood up and took the   
photograph down and put in the first available   
open box. Closing the lid. "Maybe next year will   
be better, right?"   
"Yeah..." Doggett decided to try and quickly save   
face. "Anyway... about the AIDS virus?"   
"Gimme a second," she grumbled, pinching the   
bridge of her nose together tightly. "It IS a   
little after midnight. My brain starts to shut   
down right about this time."   
"Whatever," Doggett said dryly, envisioning his   
partner pacing around in her shambles of her   
apartment. He guessed she was probably bumming   
around in a pair of jeans she salvaged from the   
Goodwill and a sweatshirt she found on a   
clearance rack in the mall. Shoes off, socks off,   
glasses on. Long pretty blond hair tied back in a   
sloppy ponytail or messy bun.   
He was ninety-eight percent accurate with his   
guess, for her hair was actually in a loose   
French braid and she was not wearing her reading   
glasses. She didn't need to. She wasn't   
consulting her old medical textbooks or WebMD.   
She was consulting her own powerful photographic   
memory.   
"'Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome aka AIDS   
was first reported in the United States in 1981   
and has since become a major worldwide epidemic.   
AIDS is caused by the human immunodeficiency   
virus (HIV). By killing or impairing cells of the   
immune system, HIV progressively destroys the   
body's ability to fight infections and certain   
cancers. Individuals diagnosed with AIDS are   
susceptible to life-threatening diseases called   
opportunistic infections, which are caused by   
microbes that usually do not cause illness in   
healthy people.'"   
She sounded like a god damned robot.   
"'More than 600,000 cases of AIDS have been   
reported in the United States since 1981, and as   
many as 900,000 Americans may be infected with   
HIV. The epidemic is growing most rapidly among   
minority populations and is a leading killer of   
African-American males. According to the U.S.   
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC),   
the prevalence of AIDS is six times higher in   
African-Americans and three times higher among   
Hispanics than among whites.'"   
Atlanta... Doggett rubbed his stiff neck as   
he listened to his partner drone on. Maybe I   
can sneak into Atlanta for a day...   
Starkweather continued, "'HIV is spread most   
commonly by sexual contact with an infected   
partner. The virus can enter the body through the   
lining of the vagina, vulva, penis, rectum or   
mouth during sex. HIV also is spread through   
contact with infected blood. Prior to the   
screening of blood for evidence of HIV infection   
and before the introduction in 1985 of heat-  
treating techniques to destroy HIV in blood   
products, HIV was transmitted through   
transfusions of contaminated blood or blood   
components. Today, because of blood screening and   
heat treatment, the risk of acquiring HIV from   
such transfusions is extremely sma-'"   
"What year was that again?" Doggett suddenly   
interrupted.   
She paused. "Year?? Before we started screening   
blood? 1985."   
Doggett's shoulders slumped. Parker's accident   
had been long before 1985. They were still kids.   
High schoolers. Before Melanie helped him run   
away to join the Marines.   
"Why?"   
"Um... just makin' sure I heard ya right."   
"You're drawling much more than usual. Am I going   
to have to reintroduce you to 'Hooked on   
Phonics?'"   
"Thought that was s'ppose to help you read, not   
talk."   
"I'm tired," she said defensively. "The one-  
liners don't coming that quickly after midnight."   
She sighed. "Look... can I just email this to   
you? Or don't you have Internet access?"   
"Yeah, my brother's got a computer."   
"Brother? I didn't know you had a brother."   
"One brother, two sisters." Doggett loosen his   
tie. Then looked down at himself. He was still in   
the same suit he had put one before going to J.   
Edgar today. And now it was all travel stained   
and crumpled.   
He looked up and saw the shadow of a man standing   
in front of him.   
"Steve, that you?"   
"Doggett?" Starkweather pressed the phone closer   
to her ear. "Who are you talking to?"   
Doggett forgot about the phone in his hand as he   
stared wordlessly at the shadow in front of him.   
Realizing that there was no light and no solid   
object in the room to create the shadow.   
"My God..."   
"Doggett... you're really starting to spook   
me..." Starkweather shivered involuntarily.   
"What's going on?"   
Doggett blinked. The shadow was gone. "I'm losing   
it..."   
"Papa John?"   
"Huh? Oh..." Doggett squeezed his eyes tightly   
shut. "I'm overtired, I'm seein' things."   
"SEEING things??? You??? Is there a piece of hell   
freezing over?"   
"Not like ghosts or shit, I'm... my mind's   
playin' tricks on me. Seeing things..." he   
trailed off, thinking of the image of the little   
boy who inherited his eyes and Barbara's nose.   
"Wanting to see something so bad, that I'm   
actually seein' it when I know it's not real," he   
finished. "Like I said... I'm losing it."   
Starkweather lifted her left hand. Examined the   
diamond solitaire set on a simple soldered golden   
band. "Trust me... I can relate."   
"What are you doin' for Christmas?" he went   
fishing. Wanted to be sure she wasn't going to be   
sitting by herself.   
"Jenny," her stepmother, "invited me over to her   
house for Christmas Eve and Scully and Mulder   
pretty much ordered me to be at Scully's place   
for Christmas Day. The Gunmen are going to be   
over too... God help me..." she whimpered. "If   
Langly tries to corral me by the mistletoe, I   
swear to God, I'll shoot him. I really will."   
Doggett chuckled. "I think Scully and Mul-duh   
will protect you from Langly," he reassured her.   
"And remember," she added. "We agreed. No   
Christmas presents."   
"I didn't buy you anything," he said innocently.   
"Better not have," she grumbled. "Do you want me   
to go on with the AIDS lecture or can I email or   
fax something to you?"   
"My brother's got a computer in his shop, I can   
get my email from there." As long as Steve's   
not there Doggett rolled his eyes. He pulled   
his tie completely off now. He ached all over,   
his body cried out for sleep.   
"Okay, I'll send it to your AO-hell account," she   
said. "When are you heading back to DC?"   
"Don't know," he said truthfully. "Maybe after   
the New Year."   
"Okay."   
"Get some sleep. Else I'll sick Langly on ya."   
"Ugh. Are you TRYING to give me nightmares?"   
"I'll see you when I get back home, Doc."   
"Okay... I'll email you first thing in the   
morning."   
"Alright."   
"Talk to you later."   
"Bye Doc."   
The dial tone took the place of her husky voice.   
Doggett held the phone in his hand for a moment   
and then hung it up carefully.   
He looked up and jumped at the shadow looming in   
front of him now.   
But this shadow was created by a living breathing   
entity.   
  
"So?" Melanie slid into the darkened study.   
"Who's this 'Doc'?"   
"Jesus, Mel," Doggett burst out, hand on chest.   
"That's the second time tonight you scared the   
piss outta me."   
"I'll be sure to walk around the puddle," she   
said dryly as she walked over to the desk,   
reaching out to turn on the lamp. Doggett rubbed   
his eyes when the room brightened up. "So,"   
Melanie asked again, settling on the battered   
love seat by the window. "Who's 'Doc'?" A wicked   
little smile curled her lips.   
Doggett looked at the floor. "A friend."   
"A friend that you wish was here?"   
"Goddamn, Melanie, how long have you been   
eavesdroppin'?" Doggett jerked his head up to   
glare at her. "She's having a rough time right   
now. I invited her to come home with me so she   
wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone. That's   
all."   
"How nice of you," Melanie demurred. "So, does   
Doc have a real name?"   
"Jerilyn."   
"That's... different."   
"She's a different kind of girl," Doggett   
mumbled, looking at the floor again.   
"Different how?"   
"Mel, let it go."   
"No way," Melanie smirked. "I haven't seen you   
this riled up about a girl since that prissy   
little bitch Lindsay Amos asked you to take her   
to the prom."   
"It's. Not. Like. That."   
"Bullshit," Melanie taunted him. "Your ears are   
bright pink." She hugged a pillow to herself. "So   
that's why you got so defensive when I asked   
about Reyes. You've got your sights set on   
someone else." Instantly, Melanie began   
bombarding him with questions. "What's she like?"   
When Doggett refused to answer, she persisted.   
"Oh, come on, Johnny. Sleep's pretty much a lost   
cause for the both of us. And I'm so happy you've   
found another girl-"   
"Mel-" Doggett tried to butt in but his sister   
was on a roll.   
"So tell me, what she like? Is she nice?"   
"Nice??!?!?!?!?!" He snorted. "She is the biggest   
bitch to grace God's green earth."   
"And yet you ran to her to help with Parker,"   
Melanie challenged him.   
"Well... she's smart as hell. I mean. Really   
fucking smart. I feel stupid half the time she   
opens her mouth. And I didn't RUN to her."   
"How did you meet her?"   
"She's my partner at the Bureau. We've been   
workin' together since April."   
  
Realization dawned on Melanie. "Then... she was   
that woman that was with you on September 11.   
Parker and I taped that interview of the both of   
you on MSNBC."   
"Yes," Doggett said softly. "That's her. She lost   
her father in the Pentagon attack."   
Melanie looked stricken. "And she's married..."   
Doggett shook his head. "Not anymore... her..."   
he closed his eyes, remembering how he found her   
in the chapel, her pretty cream suit coated with   
blood.   
**Doggett, please, just go away...**   
"Her older brother used to work in the FBI too.   
But he was kicked out after workin' a case with   
me last year. He's the Deputy Mayor of Washington   
DC now. But he still ain't a real popular guy and   
he pisses off the wrong people. There was an   
assassination attempt on him... but... Ben... her   
husband... was in the wrong place at the wrong   
time and he... was killed in the crossfire. Three   
weeks ago."   
"Oh God..." Melanie whispered, turning white. "At   
least I had time to prepare for Parker's..." she   
looked down at her lap, holding the pillow closer   
to herself.   
Doggett got up and crossed over to Melanie,   
sitting beside her. "That's why I really didn't   
want to talk about Jerilyn," he whispered as he   
embraced his sister. "I didn't want to rub salt   
into fresh wounds, Mel."   
Melanie snuffled into his dress blouse. "It   
just... oh God, John, he was doing so well, he   
was taking his drugs, he was healthy, then... all   
of a sudden... we only knew that he had AIDS for   
a few months, John. One day he was fine, the next   
he had AIDS. He was still fine, and now... his   
wake's tomorrow," she burst out into full blown   
sobs.   
Doggett held Melanie tighter to him, unsure of   
what to say.   
After a while, Melanie composed herself. "I'm   
sorry."   
"S'all right," Doggett told her. "I'm here, Sis."   
She nodded. "I know," her voice cracked. "And   
you'll get justice for Park. One way or another."   
She wiped her tears off her face with the back of   
her hand as she got up. "I'm going to try and go   
to bed."   
"'Kay." Doggett watched her leave.   
Only to watch her pop her head back into the   
room. "And don't you think that you're off the   
hook about this Jerilyn-girl for one second,   
mister. Because I don't buy that "there's nothing   
between us" bullshit story at all."   
Doggett shook his head. "Really. Mel. There's   
nothing."   
"Then why are your ears still red?" She smiled   
affectionately at him and left him alone with all   
the spirits that torment him. His invisible   
ghosts and demons and longings for distant   
angels.   
  
December 22, 2001   
5:35 AM Eastern Standard Time   
Laura opened her eyes. With a big yawn, she sat   
up, rubbing her eyes. She leaned over the side of   
the bed to see if there were monsters underneath   
of it. "Darn," she muttered in disappointment   
when she didn't see any.   
Slipping out of bed, she put on her gaudy pink   
fuzzy slippers that Grandma bought her for her   
birthday last year. Her mama had nearly gone into   
hysterics but Laura loved them.   
Silent as a cat, she crept around the house,   
snooping until she found her Uncle John's room.   
She scampered across the hardwood floor and stood   
beside his bed.   
Laura frowned. Uncle John was still dressed in   
the same suit he was wearing last night. Why   
wasn't he in pajamas?   
"Whaddya want Laura?" he asked softly, not even   
opening his eyes. Amazing how his "kid-radar" was   
still fine-tuned as ever even though he had been   
childless for nearly seven-going-on-eight years   
now.   
"Monster huntin'," Laura said solemnly. "Wan'ed   
to see if you were up so you could come with me."   
Doggett rolled his head over and opened his eyes.   
"Huh?"   
"Mama says you hunt monsters for a livin'. I was   
hopin' you wan'ed to go with me to hunt monsters   
this mornin'."   
Thanks Chris Doggett thought with a groan.   
Then he grinned. The child had been petrified by   
the idea of her grandfather's ghost last night   
but this morning, wanted to track down monsters.   
Kids. "Why do you wanna hunt monsters, baby?"   
"'Cause."   
"'Cause why?" Doggett felt himself falling into   
the dreaded 'Because-why-because' trap that kids   
were so good about setting.   
Laura scrunched her face up in thought. "'Cause   
playin' with monsters is funner than playin' with   
Barbies."   
Good answer Doggett's grin grew. "Baby, all   
the monsters are sleepin' right now," he told   
her. "They only come out at night."   
"Oh." Laura mulled this over and tucked that bit   
of information away. "So... how come you're   
sleepin' in your clothes? Didja forget your   
pajamas?"   
Oh damn "I was so tired last night, I forgot   
completely to change my clothes," he told her. He   
felt extremely uncomfortable having slept in his   
clothes, but then again, it wasn't necessarily   
the first time he had done so.   
"Mama gets mad at me if I don't change into MY   
pajamas. Is Grandma gonna get mad at you 'cause   
you didn't change into your pajamas?"   
"She won't if we don't tell her," Doggett gave   
her a conspirator's wink. Then he yawned. "Now   
scoot. It's early."   
"Can I sleep in here?" she asked. "It still   
stinks like Grandpa in that room." She turned her   
little-girl charm on him full-force. "I'll be   
good. I'll be quiet. I'll sleep on the floor."   
Doggett shook his head. Kids. "You don't have to   
sleep on the flo- OOF!" Doggett grunted as Laura   
bounced into bed, clambering over his chest and   
snuggling into the crook of his arm.   
"Daddy says I'm too big to do this no more," she   
mumbled sleepily as she dozed back off.   
Doggett rested his head against the pillow. I   
wonder what it would have been like to have a   
daughter? he couldn't help but wonder. Then   
felt a stab of disloyalty to the son he lost.   
He closed he eyes and tried to relax enough to   
catch at least an hour or two of sleep before the   
day began in earnest.   
  
Later that morning...   
7:55 AM Eastern Time   
"Mornin' Mama," Doggett said bending down to kiss   
his mother's wrinkled cheek as she finished up   
frying the bacon for breakfast.   
"Don't they feed you up in DC?" she scolded him,   
shooing him away. "You're skin and bones, son."   
Doggett grinned as he walked over to the   
coffeepot and poured himself a cup. "Ah, Mama,   
you worry too much."   
"I'm your mother," she informed him primly.   
"That's my job."   
Doggett looked at the table and knew that Scully   
would have a nervous breakdown if she would have   
seen what was on the table. Every bit of food   
except for the toast was dripping with grease or   
coated with sugar. Doggett wondered if he would   
have any stomach lining left after his stay with   
his mother but as the aroma teased his olfactory   
nerves, he decided that he didn't care. Bring on   
the fried food. Bring on the coronary.   
"Sorry it's not very much," Mrs. Doggett   
apologized, "but Mel and I have to get to the   
children's hospital this morning and then we've   
got the wake this evening so you'll have to fend   
for yourself."   
Doggett, who was used to a cold Pop Tart and   
black coffee to start his day, told her "It's   
fine, Mama, I'm used to fending for m'self."   
Mrs. Doggett looked up at her son, opened her   
mouth, then closed it firmly. She put her hand to   
his cheek and told him sternly. "Behave   
yourself," while lovingly caressing his cheek.   
His mother was a woman of few words and an ornate   
dignity. John may be the spitting image of his   
deceased father, but he was his mother's son.   
Both wrapped their hurts and secrets up in the   
wrapping of silence and tucked those packages   
away to be opened later on. Alone.   
"Okay," he teased her. "No wild parties. No   
girls."   
"And stay out of the whiskey," she frowned at him   
as she turned away to get her purse, calling out,   
"Mel?? Melanie, are you ready?"   
Doggett shook his head in wonder as his mother   
left the kitchen and Chris, being dragged in by   
Laura entered. "Hi Uncle John!" Laura chirped.   
"What're we doin' today???"   
Doggett looked up at Chris in panic.   
"Could you baby sit Laura for me?" Chris pleaded.   
"I have to go to town and get some last-minute   
stuff done for the holidays."   
Sh*t he thought. How'm I s'pposed to look   
into Parker's death while keeping an eye on   
Laura???   
"I've got runnin' around to do too," he told   
Chris. "D'ya mind if I bring her 'long then?"   
Laura beamed. Chris did not. "What KIND of   
things?"   
Doggett sighed. "Just errands. Stuff I need to   
pick up that I forgot when packing yesterday.   
Gonna go down to the shop to borrow Steve's   
computer to check email."   
"Laura, baby," Chris asked, stroking her child's   
pretty dark curls. "Before you eat your Corn   
Pops, can you do me a favor?"   
"Sure Mama."   
"Go upstairs and get Mama's purse. I forgot it."   
"'Kay."   
The minute Laura disappeared from the kitchen,   
Chris hissed at her brother. "Johnny, you are not   
helping Melanie get over Parker by feedin' into   
her delusions."   
"I AIN'T feedin' into her delusions!" Doggett   
snapped back at her.   
"Johnny, you know and I know," her voice was   
shaking now. "That it's just best to let things   
go."   
Doggett leaned back in his chair. Surveyed his   
sister with her faux fiery hair. Chris fidgeted   
nervously with her charm bracelet, an early   
Christmas present from her husband. She didn't   
like how piercing his eyes were. So blue. So   
clear. So like their mother's.   
"You really believe that Christen?" he asked her   
lightly, but using her full name instead of the   
familiar diminutive to ensure he had her full   
attention.   
She squirmed. "I want to believe," she whispered,   
looking at the floor.   
"Honey, I'm not gonna do anything that's gonna   
hurt Mel," he said. "If there's even the   
slightest chance that Park was murdered, then me   
pokin' 'round will improve the odds of the killer   
bein' found by that little bit. If it's proven   
without a doubt that he died naturally... well...   
then Mel will have the answers she needs to stop   
puttin' off gettin' on with her life." I am   
such a hypocrite he thought as he continued to   
stare his little sister down.   
"It's just that... John, this has been hellish   
enough already. You haven't been here... you   
don't live here. You were in New York when things   
were really bad between Daddy and Mellie and Park   
and..." she shook her end. "I just..."   
"Mama!" Laura burst back in. "Found it!"   
"Thank you baby." Chris took the battered purse   
from her daughter.   
"D'ya mind if Laura tags along with me today   
then?" Doggett asked her smoothly as Laura   
plunked down in her chair and started to add   
fresh strawberries to her soggy cereal. "It's   
nothing big, nothing earth shattering, I   
promise." For today he thought darkly.   
Laura beamed at him. "Can we go to the library?"   
"Yeah..." Doggett became enthusiastic at the   
idea. Because libraries have computers... I   
won't have to deal with Steve at the shop.   
"Yeah, actually, the library's one of the places   
I gotta go."   
"Mama? That okay?"   
Relief relaxed Chris' normally tense face. "No.   
That's fine."   
She counted on her fantasy-prone daughter to keep   
John so occupied that he wouldn't have time to   
chase after his own imaginary monsters.   
Later that morning...   
Chatham-Effingham-Liberty Regional Library   
Savannah Georgia   
"I don't believe it," Doggett moaned under his   
breath. "They charge for Internet service," he   
griped.   
Laura looked up from her book. She was successful   
in her battle in snagging the library's last copy   
of 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.'   
"Whatcha lookin' for?"   
"I'm not looking for anything Laura," he told   
her. "I need to get my email. I'm expecting an   
important message from someone."   
"Your girlfriend?"   
"What????"   
"Mama and Auntie Mel were talkin' before we left   
for the library," Laura informed him solemnly.   
"Auntie Mel said your ears turned really red   
after she caught you on the phone with a lady and   
Mama said she must've been your girlfriend if   
your ears got red... hey... cool! They really do   
turn red! How do you do that??"   
Doggett wished his family lived in Alaska so he   
could wear ear muffs.   
"Your Mama and your Auntie Mel-" are gonna get   
hurt "-made a mistake honey. I was talkin' on   
the phone last night with a lady, but she's not   
my girlfriend. She's my friend. We work   
together."   
"You guys catch monsters together?"   
"We try to." He looked at her book. "Like Harry   
Potter huh?"   
"Oh yeah!" Laura grinned, losing interest in her   
uncles' telltale ears. "It's really cool, but   
it's gonna be hard to wait for the next book to   
come out. It's not done bein' written yet."   
"Well, while you're waiting for the next book to   
come out, you could read another series... it's   
kinda like Harry Potter... well, I mean, its got   
magic and stuff." Doggett had never been much of   
a reader, but he had always been enchanted by the   
works of CS Lewis. He remembered reading "The   
Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" to his son even   
as Barbara admonished him that Luke was too   
little to hear stories like that. He needed to be   
protected from violence, not subjected to it.   
**Ah, Barb, relax. It's just a story**   
"C'mon," he told Laura, getting up. "We'll ask   
the librarian where it is... and maybe we'll go   
do something else today too..."   
"Like what?"   
"Whatever you want, sweetie. Movie, park, zoo..."   
"Can we go to the zoo??"   
"Sure."   
Anything to postpone going to his brother's auto   
repair shop and asking to use his computer.   
Later on that afternoon...   
Doggett's Auto Repair and Parts   
"Why'd we hafta come here?" Laura's voice was   
etched with disappointment as the family auto   
repair and parts store loomed in the horizon. "We   
were havin' fun."   
Doggett was asking himself the very same   
question. He had spent the day totally spoiling   
Laura rotten. Mostly because his spirited little   
niece charmed him utterly. But partially, also to   
get back at Chris for asking him to baby sit.   
He took her to her favorite restaurant and let   
her order whatever she wanted, then they wandered   
around the zoo for most of the afternoon. While   
walking around, Doggett found his mind wandering   
back to Melanie's request, to find out the true   
nature of Parker's death. Several times, Laura   
had to poke him to get his attention. But then an   
attraction, the monkey house, the lions' den, the   
sweets vendor, would catch her eye and she would   
forget about her uncle's inattentiveness.   
"Well, honey, I still have to check my email," he   
told her. "And Grandma doesn't have a computer."   
Doggett regretted not taking his own FBI issued   
notebook computer with him. But he didn't want to   
deal with the hassle of security inspecting the   
bag he carried the computer and docking port in.   
Hell, they made him take off his shoes, for   
Christ's sake.   
Now the security at the airport seemed like a   
picnic compared to asking his dour older brother   
to borrow the computer, even for five minutes.   
Ten maybe, depending on how much shit Jerilyn   
sent him.   
The oldest of the family, Stephen Doggett had   
been the popular one, the good looking one, the   
one the girls flocked around in high school.   
Three years younger than him and two years   
younger than Mel, Doggett hadn't really cared...   
much. In high school, he had been so shy around   
girls anyways. Stevie had been so cool, so blasé   
about it. It seemed like he had a different   
girlfriend every week. Lindsay Amos, blond, blue-  
eyed, a cheerleader and two years his senior had   
to ask HIM to the prom. John barely had composure   
enough to stammer out an "okay", half-afraid that   
it was all a bad joke.   
Now, fast forward, twenty-five years later.   
Stevie was bald, pudgy and alone. Even more so   
than John. He had never gone to college. He had   
never traveled. He had never married. He had   
never had children. He had dedicated his life to   
continuing his father's business.   
A business that was steadily declining.   
And Steve still lived with his mother.   
Doggett didn't care how shitty his life was,   
didn't care that his chances for advancement in   
the FBI had a snowball's chance on Mars. He had   
served his nation and earned a college degree. He   
had his own house, he had an interesting job, he   
had good friends and he had a wonderful albeit   
infuriating partner. And for seven years, he had   
the honor of being the father to, in his biased   
opinion, the best little boy in the entire world   
and he wouldn't trade that for anything.   
As he got out of the car, Doggett surveyed the   
building. The paint was peeling badly. One of the   
'G's on the sign had fallen off. The garbage in   
the dumpster was overflowing and smelled   
terrible. Doggett, as he waited for Laura to run   
around the vehicle to join him, toyed with the   
idea of offering Steve to tidy the place up a   
little bit while he was in town. Then dismissed   
the idea immediately. Steve would perceive the   
offer as either charity or pity or both. And   
refuse his help. Rudely.   
As Doggett and Laura walked up the cracked   
sidewalk to the garage, Stevie came out the door,   
wiping grease off his hands with a dirty rag.   
"What are you doin' here?" he asked his brother   
coolly. Then glanced down at Laura, who looked up   
at her other uncle warily. "And what'n the hell   
did you bring her here for?"   
Laura's eyes filled with tears.   
"Because she's keepin' me company today and I   
don't think Chris'll 'preciate you talkin' about   
her daughter that way," Doggett said just as   
calmly, feeling Laura reaching for his hand.   
Stevie just snorted. "So, what'd you want?"   
"I need to check my email. I'm expecting   
correspondence from my partner about a case." Not   
quite the truth. Not quite the lie.   
Steve snorted slightly, his flaring nostrils   
reminding Doggett of that ridiculous bull that   
Bugs Bunny told to "stop steaming up my tail!"   
But instead of lowing his head and running   
towards him in a blind rage, he merely turned   
around and mumbled, "Well, hurry up then. Don't   
got all day."   
Doggett looked down and grinned at Laura, who   
still appeared distraught. "Think Uncle Stevie's   
havin' a bad day," he whispered to her, squeezing   
her small hand.   
"Uncle Stevie ALWAYS has a bad day when I'm   
'round," Laura said petulantly, head hanging   
down.   
Doggett felt a very adolescent urge to slap Steve   
upside the head.   
The urge became a compulsion when he stepped   
inside the shop. It was filthy and unkempt.   
Granted, auto mechanic shops weren't exactly   
supposed to be Martha Stewart-neat. But there was   
no excuse for the trash cans to be overflowing   
with Coke cans and McDonald's bags. Or broken   
tools and pieces of scrap metal laying on top of   
the filing cabinet. Or to have spiders merrily   
spinning their webs in the corners. Doggett,   
always a clean-freak by nature, shuddered.   
Plus, he remembered as a boy how neat his father   
had kept the shop. You could almost eat off the   
office floor.   
Doggett wondered if Steve was subconsciously   
sabotaging the business to get back at his father   
postmortem for tying him down to the shop. But   
decided it wasn't his place to hazard a guess.   
Who knew what went through Stevie's mind anymore   
and John did not study psychology. That was   
Mulder and Starkweather's department. Profiling.   
"Computer's on the desk," Steve said as if   
Doggett was too dense to notice the ancient   
machine on top of the filthy desk.   
"Thanks," Doggett said while groaning to himself   
Aw, Christ, it's a Mac. God damn it...   
Doggett pulled out the chair and sat down. Laura   
flopped down on the cracked vinyl couch and   
crossed her arms, looking bored. Stevie   
positioned himself right behind Doggett, looking   
over his shoulder.   
"D'ya mind?" Doggett asked irritably.   
"Yeah, I mind," Stevie responded, equally   
irritated. "I mind a lot."   
"This is confidential," Doggett said through   
gritted teeth.   
"It's my computer," Steve replied sullenly.   
"Aw for Christ's sake, I'm not gonna be   
downloadin' porn or anything!"   
"Yeah, but how do I know you're not adding a   
virus to my computer if you open anything? All my   
business' financial records are on the hard   
drive."   
"It's from the FBI! It's from my god-damned   
partner!" Doggett said hotly, forgetting about   
the little ears sitting on the couch across the   
room. "She's not gonna send an infected file to   
me!"   
"Not on purpose."   
"Steve, if you didn't want me to use this, why   
don'cha just say so and quit wastin' my time."   
"Hey, this is my livelihood you wanna dink 'round   
with, boy. And I'll be damned if I lose all my   
records 'cause you were playin' Cops and Robbers   
over the holidays."   
"My job is not a game."   
"Bullsh-"   
"Boys," a quietly forceful, feminine voice cut   
through the air.   
John and Steve looked up from their argument and   
saw their mother and their sister Melanie   
standing there.   
"He started it!" Steve burst out childishly.   
Doggett retorted, "Did not!" The minute the words   
were out of his mouth, he felt like a horse's   
ass.   
Mrs. Doggett skewered the two great big grown men   
with her piercing eyes. "It doesn't matter who   
started it," she snapped at them as if they were   
eight and six again and bickering over a toy. "It   
matters that you act your ages and end it like   
gentlemen. Now." She crossed her arms and   
waiting, still glaring at them.   
Laura bolted up from the couch and ran to her   
mother's side. Chris wrapped her arms around   
Laura's shoulders.   
"Fine," Steve muttered. "Fine." He stepped away   
from his brother. "Go 'head," he gestured vaguely   
towards the computer. "I gotta run some errands   
'fore the wake anyway. Lock up the shop when you   
get done"   
"Stephen," Mrs. Doggett said threateningly.   
"Mama, I gotta go," he mumbled, snatching his   
ball cap and jacket off of the old coat tree and   
stomped out of the shop.   
Doggett looked up at his mother, shaking his   
head. "It's never gonna be good 'tween us, Mama,"   
he said quietly. "It's no use."   
Mrs. Doggett said in a sniffy voice, "That's the   
credo of the mediocre, son."   
"But Mama-"   
"Don't you 'but Mama' me," Mrs. Doggett said   
loftily. "Y'all can try to get along for my sake.   
And if not for me, then at least for Mellie. God   
only knows how much she's hurtin' right now." She   
shed her steely demeanor, let her small shoulders   
slouch a little. "You gonna be long, son?"   
"Shouldn't be. I'll try not to be. I don't wanna   
be late for the wake," Doggett promised her.   
"Alright then," Mrs. Doggett nodded. "Come on   
Chris," she said solemnly. "Let's go." Then she   
smiled down at her granddaughter. "And you young   
lady, need to tell Grandma all about your day."   
The women and the little girl left Doggett in   
peace. First thing he did was raid Steve's desk   
for anything that could combat a raging headache.   
He found a dusty bottle of Bayer aspirin and dry-  
swallowed three white pills. Then he logged onto   
the Internet, cursing out Steve's slow slow   
service.   
Finally, after what felt like the passing of an   
eon or two, he was able to access his email.   
"TO: JJDoggett4460@AOL.COM   
FROM: Jeribs@AOL.COM   
RE: AIDS/HIV   
Papa John-   
B/c I am lazy as fuck, I've just c&ped a link to   
WebMD for you. It'll tell you everything you need   
to know about AIDS and then some. Need   
clarification, call me. Will have cell on. Will   
kill you if you call at midnight again though.   
Hope home is treating you better today than last   
night. Sorry I was bitchy last night, was really   
tired when you called - Santa's probably going to   
skip my house this year b/c of that, the fat old   
bastard. Talk you when you're back in DC.   
-Doc   
PS: So, how many hours did you waste dreaming up   
your screen name anyway? Just curious. hee hee"   
He grinned after reading her snotty little   
message.   
The grin faded after he clicked on the hyperlink   
and started reading about the disease that Parker   
supposedly died from.   
  
Doggett squinted at the screen as he began to   
silently read. I hope this print just looks   
blurry because I'm tired and not because I need   
glasses he thought as he leaned in closer to   
the monitor:   
"Frequently Asked Questions on HIV/AIDS:   
Transmission and Prevention   
Myths and facts about how HIV is transmitted --   
and how it can be prevented. Centers for Disease   
Control and Prevention Reviewed By Dr. Tonja Wynn   
Hampton   
How is HIV passed from one person to another?:   
HIV transmission can occur when blood, semen   
(including pre-seminal fluid, or "pre-cum"),   
vaginal fluid, or breast milk from an infected   
person enters the body of an uninfected person.   
HIV can enter the body through a vein (e.g.,   
injection drug use), the anus or rectum, the   
vagina, the penis, the mouth, other mucous   
membranes (e.g., eyes or inside of the nose), or   
cuts and sores. Intact, healthy skin is an   
excellent barrier against HIV and other viruses   
and bacteria. These are the most common ways that   
HIV is transmitted from one person to another:   
by having sexual intercourse (anal, vaginal, or   
oral sex) with an HIV-infected person   
by sharing needles or injection equipment with an   
injection drug user who is infected with HIV   
from HIV-infected women to babies before or   
during birth, or through breast-feeding after   
birth. HIV also can be transmitted through   
transfusions of infected blood or blood clotting   
factors. However, since 1985, all donated blood   
in the United States has been tested for HIV.   
Therefore, the risk of infection through   
transfusion of blood or blood products is   
extremely low. The U.S. blood supply is   
considered to be among the safest in the world.   
Some health-care workers have become infected   
after being stuck with needles containing HIV-  
infected blood or, less frequently, after   
infected blood contact with the worker's open cut   
or through splashes into the worker's eyes or   
inside their nose. There has been only one   
instance of patients being infected by an HIV-  
infected health care worker. This involved HIV   
transmission from an infected dentist to six   
patients.   
Can I get HIV from kissing on the cheek?: HIV is   
not casually transmitted, so kissing on the cheek   
is very safe. Even if the other person has the   
virus, your unbroken skin is a good barrier. No   
one has become infected from such ordinary social   
contact as dry kisses, hugs, and handshakes.   
Can I get HIV from open-mouth kissing?: Open-  
mouth kissing is considered a very low-risk   
activity for the transmission of HIV. However,   
prolonged open-mouth kissing could damage the   
mouth or lips and allow HIV to pass from an   
infected person to a partner and then enter the   
body through cuts or sores in the mouth. Because   
of this possible risk, the CDC recommends against   
open-mouth kissing with an infected partner. One   
case suggests that a woman became infected with   
HIV from her sex partner through exposure to   
contaminated blood during open-mouth kissing. The   
July 11, 1997, Morbidity and Mortality Weekly   
Report contains an article on this case.   
Can I get HIV from performing oral sex?: Yes, it   
is possible for you to become infected with HIV   
through performing oral sex. There have been a   
few cases of HIV transmission from performing   
oral sex on a person infected with HIV. While no   
one knows exactly what the degree of risk is,   
evidence suggests that the risk is less than that   
of unprotected anal or vaginal sex. Blood, semen,   
pre-seminal fluid, and vaginal fluid all may   
contain the virus. Cells in the mucous lining of   
the mouth may carry HIV into the lymph nodes or   
the bloodstream. The risk increases if you have   
cuts or sores around or in your mouth or throat;   
if your partner ejaculates in your mouth; or   
if your partner has another sexually transmitted   
disease (STD).   
If you choose to have oral sex, and your partner   
is male, use a latex condom on the penis; or   
if you or your partner is allergic to latex,   
plastic (polyurethane) condoms can be used.   
Research has shown the effectiveness of latex   
condoms used on the penis to prevent the   
transmission of HIV. Condoms are not risk-free,   
but they greatly reduce your risk of becoming   
HIV-infected if your partner has the virus. If   
you choose to have oral sex, and your partner is   
female, use a latex barrier (such as a dental dam   
or a cut-open condom that makes a square) between   
your mouth and the vagina. Plastic food wrap also   
can be used as a barrier..."   
"What?????" Doggett blurted out after reading   
that part. "No fricking way..." A very   
uncomfortable mental picture of Saran Wrap flew   
through his mind. He shook his head to clear it.   
"I remember when sex was easy," he muttered to   
himself as he continued to read:   
"... The barrier reduces the risk of blood or   
vaginal fluids entering your mouth. If you have   
additional questions or are concerned about   
personal behaviors that may have put you at risk,   
call the CDC National AIDS Hotline at 1-800-342-  
2437 (English), 1-800-344-7432 (Spanish), or 1-  
800-243-7889 (TTY).   
Can I get HIV from someone performing oral sex on   
me?: Yes, it is possible for you to become   
infected with HIV through receiving oral sex. If   
your partner has HIV, blood from their mouth may   
enter the urethra (the opening at the tip of the   
penis), the vagina, the anus, or directly into   
the body through small cuts or open sores. While   
no one knows exactly what the degree of risk is,   
evidence suggests that the risk is less than that   
of unprotected anal or vaginal sex. If you choose   
to have oral sex, use a latex condom on the   
penis; or   
if you or your partner is allergic to latex, a   
plastic (polyurethane) condom can be used.   
Research has shown the effectiveness of latex   
condoms used on the penis for preventing the   
transmission of HIV. Condoms are not risk-free,   
but they greatly reduce your risk of becoming   
HIV-infected if your partner has the virus. If   
you choose to have oral sex and you are female,   
use a latex barrier (such as a cut-open condom   
that makes a square or a dental dam) between   
their mouth and the vagina. Plastic food wrap   
(here Doggett winced again) can also be used as a   
barrier. The barrier reduces the risk of blood   
entering the body through the vagina..."   
  
Can I get HIV from having vaginal sex?: Yes, it   
is possible to become infected with HIV through   
vaginal intercourse. In fact, it is the most   
common way the virus is transmitted in much of   
the world. HIV can be found in the blood, semen,   
pre-seminal fluid, or vaginal fluid of a person   
infected with the virus. The lining of the vagina   
can tear and possibly allow HIV to enter the   
body. Direct absorption of HIV through the mucous   
membranes that line the vagina also is a   
possibility. The male may be at less risk for HIV   
transmission than the female through vaginal   
intercourse. However, HIV can enter the body of   
the male through his urethra (the opening at the   
tip of the penis) or through small cuts or open   
sores on the penis. Risk for HIV infection   
increases if you or a partner has a sexually   
transmitted disease (STD). If you choose to have   
vaginal intercourse, use a latex condom to help   
protect both you and your partner from the risk   
of HIV and other STDs. Studies have shown that   
latex condoms are very effective, though not   
perfect, in preventing HIV transmission when used   
correctly and consistently. If either partner is   
allergic to latex, plastic (polyurethane) condoms   
for either the male or female can be used.   
Can I get HIV from anal sex? (Here Doggett, hard-  
core Marine man all the way, cringed and wondered   
"Why???????") Yes, it is possible for either sex   
partner to become infected with HIV during anal   
sex. HIV can be found in the blood, semen, pre-  
seminal fluid, or vaginal fluid of a person   
infected with the virus. In general, the person   
receiving the semen is at greater risk of getting   
HIV because the lining of the rectum is thin and   
may allow the virus to enter the body during anal   
sex. However, a person who inserts his penis into   
an infected partner also is at risk because HIV   
can enter through the urethra (the opening at the   
tip of the penis) or through small cuts,   
abrasions, or open sores on the penis. Having   
unprotected (without a condom) anal sex is   
considered to be a very risky behavior. If people   
choose to have anal sex, they should use a latex   
condom. Most of the time, condoms work well.   
However, condoms are more likely to break during   
anal sex than during vaginal sex. Thus, even with   
a condom, anal sex can be risky. A person should   
use a water-based lubricant in addition to the   
condom to reduce the chances of the condom   
breaking.   
How effective are latex condoms in preventing   
HIV?: Studies have shown that latex condoms are   
highly effective in preventing HIV transmission   
when used consistently and correctly. These   
studies looked at uninfected people considered to   
be at very high risk of infection because they   
were involved in sexual relationships with HIV-  
infected people. The studies found that even with   
repeated sexual contact, 98-100 percent of those   
people who used latex condoms correctly and   
consistently did not become infected.   
Is there a connection between HIV and other   
sexually transmitted diseases?: Yes. Having a   
sexually transmitted disease (STD) can increase a   
person's risk of becoming infected with HIV,   
whether the STD causes open sores or breaks in   
the skin (e.g., syphilis, herpes, chancroid) or   
does not cause breaks in the skin (e.g.,   
chlamydia, gonorrhea). If the STD infection   
causes irritation of the skin, breaks or sores   
may make it easier for HIV to enter the body   
during sexual contact. Even when the STD causes   
no breaks or open sores, the infection can   
stimulate an immune response in the genital area   
that can make HIV transmission more likely. In   
addition, if an HIV-infected person also is   
infected with another STD, that person is three   
to five times more likely than other HIV-infected   
persons to transmit HIV through sexual contact.   
Not having (abstaining from) sexual intercourse   
is the most effective way to avoid STDs,   
including HIV. For those who choose to be   
sexually active, the following HIV prevention   
activities are highly effective:   
Engaging in sex that does not involve vaginal,   
anal, or oral sex   
Having intercourse with only one uninfected   
partner   
Using latex condoms every time you have sex   
If you have additional questions about STDs, or   
have personal concerns, call the CDC National STD   
Hotline at 1-800-227-8922.   
Why is injecting drugs a risk for HIV?: At the   
start of every intravenous injection, blood is   
introduced into needles and syringes. HIV can be   
found in the blood of a person infected with the   
virus. The reuse of a blood-contaminated needle   
or syringe by another drug injector (sometimes   
called "direct syringe sharing") carries a high   
risk of HIV transmission because infected blood   
can be injected directly into the bloodstream. In   
addition, sharing drug equipment (or "works") can   
be a risk for spreading HIV. Infected blood can   
be introduced into drug solutions by using blood-  
contaminated syringes to prepare drugs; reusing   
water; reusing bottle caps, spoons, or other   
containers ("spoons" and "cookers") used to   
dissolve drugs in water and to heat drug   
solutions; or reusing small pieces of cotton or   
cigarette filters ("cottons") used to filter out   
particles that could block the needle. "Street   
sellers" of syringes may repackage used syringes   
and sell them as sterile syringes. For this   
reason, people who continue to inject drugs   
should obtain syringes from reliable sources of   
sterile syringes, such as pharmacies. It is   
important to know that sharing a needle or   
syringe for any use, including skin popping and   
injecting steroids, can put one at risk for HIV   
and other blood-borne infections.   
How can people who use injection drugs reduce   
their risk for HIV infection?: The CDC recommends   
that people who inject drugs should be regularly   
counseled to stop using and injecting drugs.   
enter and complete substance abuse treatment,   
including relapse prevention. For injection drug   
users who cannot or will not stop injecting   
drugs, the following steps may be taken to reduce   
personal and public health risks: Never reuse or   
"share" syringes, water, or drug preparation   
equipment. Only use syringes obtained from a   
reliable source (such as pharmacies or needle   
exchange programs).   
Use a new, sterile syringe to prepare and inject   
drugs. If possible, use sterile water to prepare   
drugs; otherwise, use clean water from a reliable   
source (such as fresh tap water). Use a new or   
disinfected container ("cooker") and a new filter   
("cotton") to prepare drugs.   
Clean the injection site prior to injection with   
a new alcohol swab. Safely dispose of syringes   
after one use. If new, sterile syringes and other   
drug preparation and injection equipment are not   
available, then previously used equipment should   
be boiled in water or disinfected with bleach   
before reuse. Injection drug users and their sex   
partners also should take precautions, such as   
using condoms consistently and correctly, to   
reduce risks of sexual transmission of HIV.   
Persons who continue to inject drugs should   
periodically be tested for HIV..."   
"Can I get HIV from getting a tattoo or through   
body piercing?..."   
Doggett frowned, he never thought of that. He   
rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and touched the   
"We Will Never Forget" tattoo on his upper arm.   
He had been half-drunk when he got it done with   
the rest of the survivors of his unit. The risks   
never even crossed his mind.   
"...A risk of HIV transmission does exist if   
instruments contaminated with blood are either   
not sterilized or disinfected or are used   
inappropriately between clients. CDC recommends   
that instruments that are intended to penetrate   
the skin be used once, then disposed of or   
thoroughly cleaned and sterilized. Personal   
service workers who do tattooing or body piercing   
should be educated about how HIV is transmitted   
and take precautions to prevent transmission of   
HIV and other blood-borne infections in their   
settings. If you are considering getting a tattoo   
or having your body pierced, ask staff at the   
establishment what procedures they use to prevent   
the spread of HIV and other blood-borne   
infections, such as hepatitis B virus. You also   
may call the local health department to find out   
what sterilization procedures are in place in the   
local area for these types of establishments.   
Are health care workers at risk of getting HIV on   
the job? :The risk of health care workers getting   
HIV on the job is very low, especially if they   
carefully follow universal precautions (i.e.,   
using protective practices and personal   
protective equipment to prevent HIV and other   
blood-borne infections). It is important to   
remember that casual, everyday contact with an   
HIV-infected person does not expose health care   
workers or anyone else to HIV. For health care   
workers on the job, the main risk of HIV   
transmission is through accidental injuries from   
needles and other sharp instruments that may be   
contaminated with the virus. Even this risk is   
small, however. Scientists estimate that the risk   
of infection from a needle jab is less than 1   
percent, a figure based on the findings of   
several studies of health care workers who   
received punctures from HIV-contaminated needles   
or were otherwise exposed to HIV-contaminated   
blood. For more information on universal   
precautions or occupational risks of HIV   
exposure, call the CDC National Prevention   
Information Network (operators of the National   
AIDS Clearinghouse) at 1-800-458-5231..."   
"Are patients in a dentist's or doctor's office   
at risk of getting HIV?: Although HIV   
transmission is possible in health care settings,   
it is extremely rare. Medical experts emphasize   
that the careful practice of infection control   
procedures, including universal precautions,   
protects patients as well as health care   
providers from possible HIV infection in medical   
and dental offices. In 1990, the CDC reported on   
an HIV-infected dentist in Florida who apparently   
infected some of his patients while doing dental   
work. Studies of viral DNA sequences linked the   
dentist to six of his patients who were also HIV-  
infected. The CDC has as yet been unable to   
establish how the transmission took place.   
Further studies of more than 22,000 patients of   
63 health care providers who were HIV-infected   
have found no further evidence of transmission   
from provider to patient in health care settings.   
Should I be concerned about getting infected with   
HIV while playing sports?: There are no   
documented cases of HIV being transmitted during   
participation in sports. The very low risk of   
transmission during sports participation would   
involve sports with direct body contact in which   
bleeding might be expected to occur. If someone   
is bleeding, their participation in the sport   
should be interrupted until the wound stops   
bleeding and is both antiseptically cleaned and   
securely bandaged. There is no risk of HIV   
transmission through sports activities where   
bleeding does not occur.   
Can I get HIV from casual contact (shaking hands,   
hugging, using a toilet, drinking from the same   
glass, or the sneezing and coughing of an   
infected person)?: No. HIV is not transmitted by   
day-to-day contact in the workplace, schools, or   
social settings. HIV is not transmitted through   
shaking hands, hugging, or a casual kiss. You   
cannot become infected from a toilet seat, a   
drinking fountain, a door knob, dishes, drinking   
glasses, food, or pets. A small number of cases   
of transmission have been reported in which a   
person became infected with HIV as a result of   
contact with blood or other body secretions from   
an HIV-infected person in the household. Although   
contact with blood and other body substances can   
occur in households, transmission of HIV is rare   
in this setting. However, persons infected with   
HIV and persons providing home care for those who   
are HIV-infected should be fully educated and   
trained regarding appropriate infection-control   
techniques. HIV is not an airborne or food-borne   
virus, and it does not live long outside the   
body. HIV can be found in the blood, semen, or   
vaginal fluid of an infected person. The three   
main ways HIV is transmitted are through having   
sex (anal, vaginal, or oral) with someone   
infected with HIV.   
through sharing needles and syringes with someone   
who has HIV.   
through exposure (in the case of infants) to HIV   
before or during birth, or through breast   
feeding.   
For more information about providing home care or   
living with a person who is HIV-infected, call   
the CDC National Prevention Information Network   
(operators of the National AIDS Clearinghouse) at   
1-800-458-5231 and ask for the publication   
"Caring for Someone with AIDS: Information for   
Friends, Relatives, Household Members, and Others   
Who Care for a Person With AIDS at Home."   
Can I get infected with HIV from mosquitoes?   
No. From the start of the HIV epidemic there has   
been concern about HIV transmission of the virus   
by biting and bloodsucking insects, such as   
mosquitoes. However, studies conducted by the CDC   
and elsewhere have shown no evidence of HIV   
transmission through mosquitoes or any other   
insects -- even in areas where there are many   
cases of AIDS and large populations of   
mosquitoes. Lack of such outbreaks, despite   
intense efforts to detect them, supports the   
conclusion that HIV is not transmitted by   
insects. The results of experiments and   
observations of insect biting behavior indicate   
that when an insect bites a person, it does not   
inject its own or a previously bitten person's or   
animal's blood into the next person bitten.   
Rather, it injects saliva, which acts as a   
lubricant so the insect can feed efficiently.   
Diseases such as yellow fever and malaria are   
transmitted through the saliva of specific   
species of mosquitoes. However, HIV lives for   
only a short time inside an insect and, unlike   
organisms that are transmitted via insect bites,   
HIV does not reproduce (and does not survive) in   
insects. Thus, even if the virus enters a   
mosquito or another insect, the insect does not   
become infected and cannot transmit HIV to the   
next human it bites. There also is no reason to   
fear that a mosquito or other insect could   
transmit HIV from one person to another through   
HIV-infected blood left on its mouth parts.   
Several reasons help explain why this is so.   
First, infected people do not have constantly   
high levels of HIV in their blood streams.   
Second, insect mouth parts retain only very small   
amounts of blood on their surfaces. Finally,   
scientists who study insects have determined that   
biting insects normally do not travel from one   
person to the next immediately after ingesting   
blood. Rather, they fly to a resting place to   
digest the blood meal."   
Doggett leaned back into the chair, his forehead   
creased in thought.   
  
Okay, great, just got the crash course on AIDS,   
thankyouverymuch Jerilyn he rubbed his eyes in   
frustration. Now what?   
If Parker had been deliberately infected, the   
problem was trying to figure out when. Parker had   
always been healthy as a horse. The only time   
Parker had been in the hospital, had been at risk   
for catching the HIV virus was during the time   
when AIDS didn't even exist. When they were high-  
school kids. After those rednecked pieces of shit   
used Parker as their quarry in their "homo hunt"   
and therefore causing the accident. Doggett re-  
read the information and tried to think of how   
someone could have "slipped" Parker the virus. It   
just didn't seem possible. Parker HAD to have   
contracted the disease the normal way, but that   
didn't seem possible either. Parker was not into   
drugs. Was not a health care worker. Was not an   
athlete. Was not into anything "weird" such as   
tattoos. Doggett touched his arm again and   
shivered. He knew he was clean because the FBI   
screened all their agents regularly and   
thoroughly (and how Mulder survived at the Bureau   
as long as he did with the traces of the LSD in   
his spinal fluid was beyond him). But still, he   
had opened himself up to the risk without even   
realizing it. A damn scary thought.   
Another scary thought slammed into him. Parker   
definitely was not a homosexual, he had been in   
too much love with Melanie. In fact, Doggett knew   
that Parker and Melanie were perfectly justified   
in wearing white at their wedding. So did   
Parker get a little something on the side? I   
can't see him cheating on Mel, just like I can't   
see Mel cheating on him...   
"Oh Jesus," Doggett burst out, feeling his heart   
dropping into his shoes.   
Melanie.   
What if Melanie was infected?   
"Oh God, oh God no," Doggett whispered, squeezing   
his eyes tightly shut. Forced himself to breathe.   
Resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call   
Jerilyn. Calmed himself down. Realized that he   
would have to talk to Melanie some more. Get her   
to draw a better picture of what happened before   
he could put it into a frame.   
Feeling better that he had a marginal game plan   
mapped out, Doggett stood to leave when he spied   
a re-writable CD in a blue jewel case half-hidden   
by a mountain of old invoices. A boyishly naughty   
grin popped on his face. Whistling innocently, he   
slid the CD from out underneath the papers and   
put the disk into the CD-R drive. Discovered that   
the disk was empty.   
Doggett opened the desk drawer where he found the   
aspirin and saw several CDs with homemade labels   
inside. Glanced up at the monitor and noticed the   
Napster icon on the desktop.   
"'All the billings are on the hard-drive' my   
ass," Doggett muttered as he cheerfully began to   
download music.   
  
Later that night...   
St. John's Baptist Church   
522-528 Hartridge Street   
Savannah Georgia 310401   
7:45 PM Eastern   
Doggett decided whoever said that funerals where   
for the living rather than the dead was full of   
shit.   
Or maybe I've just been to too many of them   
he thought miserably, sitting like a coward a few   
pews away from the casket, watching Melanie   
hovering by her husband's body, greeting the   
straggling mourners. Even more cowardly, Doggett   
averted his eyes from the coffin and stared at   
the floor.   
The wake was almost over, but for God's sake,   
there was still the funeral and that was being   
postponed until after the day after Christmas.   
Because Melanie wanted a full autopsy performed   
before burial. The wake tonight was so that the   
body could be viewed. After the kind of autopsy   
Melanie was demanding, it would have to be   
closed-casket. Doggett sighed and wondered again   
if he really was helping Melanie. Or if Chris was   
right and he was just feeding into her delusions,   
her denial.   
"Speak of the devil," he said softly as his   
little sister sat down beside him.   
"Johnny Angel," Chris said softly, rubbing his   
back. "You look awful."   
"Aw gee, Chris, you always say the nicest   
things."   
"Thank you for watching Laura today."   
"She's a nice kid."   
"Thanks, we think we'll keep her," Chris quipped.   
"Where is Laura?"   
"At home with her father. I think the wake and   
the funeral would be too much for a little girl.   
She'll come to the funeral though. She needs   
closure, just like every one else. But I don't   
want to overdo it. She's only ten, you know." She   
sighed, looking up at Melanie who was alone by   
the casket now, praying over her husband's body.   
"At first I thought it was a shame they never had   
children," Chris said quietly. "But now..." she   
shook her head, unable to continue.   
"Chris..." Doggett started, stopped then forced   
himself to start again. "Melanie... is she..   
um... she's not..."   
"We don't know," Chris still, suddenly digging   
into her purse. "Nobody's asked her if she was   
infected and she hasn't volunteered the   
information." She pulled out a wad of Kleenex and   
dabbed her eyes. "I gotta get going, Johnny. Mike   
and Laura are waitin' for me."   
"I'll see you day after tomorrow."   
"You're not gonna be around tomorrow?"   
Doggett shook his head. "I gotta go to Atlanta."   
"Why?"   
"Honey, don't ask me questions you don't want   
answers to."   
Doggett could see that his response infuriated   
his baby sister to no end. "If I wasn't in church   
right now," she hissed. "I would dog-cuss you out   
so bad Johnny..."   
"Our Father," Doggett said piously, "who art in   
heaven..."   
She scowled at him and stormed off just as   
Melanie said goodnight to the last mourner. "What   
bug crawled up her butt?" Melanie asked as she   
sat down beside him. She opened her purse and   
took out a compact. Examined her tear-streaked   
face.   
"You look fine, Mellie," Doggett felt a huge lump   
in his throat. "You look... just... fine..." he   
looked at the floor again.   
Melanie closed the compact and slipped it back   
into her purse. She reached for her brother's   
hand and whispered, "Can you drive me to Mama's   
house?"   
"Okay," he whispered back, carefully cupping her   
tiny fingers with his big hand. "Let's go."   
Hand in hand, they slipped out a slide door and   
into the church parking lot, towards Melanie's   
car. Doggett could feel her entire body   
trembling. "You okay, sis?" he asked her, scared   
of what her answer might be. Please God, just   
don't let her be sick, just don't let her be   
sick. I've buried enough people already. My own   
kid, I buried my own kid, don't make me bury my   
sister too.   
"I'm not feeling very well."   
Doggett wanted to cry.   
"What's the matter?" he asked her innocently.   
"Oh... just under the weather," she said vaguely.   
"Any luck with finding out who did this to   
Parker?" she squeezed his hand as they stood   
beside her car.   
He gave her an FBI-approved bullshit response.   
"I'm makin' progress," he said gravely. "I'm   
goin' to Atlanta tomorrow to talk to someone at   
the CDC... and then I'll talk to the mortician   
who's handlin' the autopsy and maybe I'll get my   
partner or my other colleague in the X-Files,   
Dana Scully, to take a look at the results...   
actually, it'd probably be better if Agent Scully   
looked at 'em... Starkweather's a little   
overloaded right now."   
"Star- what?"   
"Stawk-weddah... my partner... Jerilyn. Her last   
name is Starkweather. We don't call each other by   
our first names."   
Melanie smiled and shook her head as she let go   
of his hand. "You FBI types are odd ducks," she   
proclaimed as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss   
his cheek. "Thank you for believing me." She got   
into the car.   
Doggett shut the car door for her and walked   
around the car, head hanging.   
Problem was, he didn't believe her.   
His gut told him that Parker died from natural   
causes.   
And now Melanie may succumb to the same fate.   
He didn't want to imagine a world without his big   
sister. Having to exist in a world without his   
son was bad enough.   
And later still that night...   
After bringing Melanie back to their mother's   
house, Doggett could barely keep his eyes open.   
Ignoring Chris and Stevie's baleful glares, he   
made his excuses to everyone and went to bed   
early. Of course, the minute he laid down on his   
childhood twin bed, his mind refused to shut down   
for the night even though his body screamed for   
it. He tossed and turned fitfully to the point of   
exhaustion where he couldn't get to sleep.   
Maybe he thought desperately maybe I can at   
least get some rest if not sleep. Maybe if I just   
lay here with my eyes closed...   
A childish giggle interrupted his sleep   
deprivation.   
"Laura, honey, I'm really tired..."   
"Daddy..."   
Doggett's eyes popped wide open. He rolled his   
head over. Saw his little boy, with his tousled   
blond hair and big blue eyes, standing by the   
side of the bed, grinning.   
"I'm dreaming..." Doggett said out loud. "This is   
a dream," he reached out his hand to touch Luke's   
face. Knowing that his hand would pass through   
the child as if he was made of mist. I'll touch   
him and I'll wake up...   
His big fingers brushed Luke's face, feeling his   
puppy fat cheeks and small upturned nose.   
"Luke..." Doggett bolted up, heart pounding as   
Luke rushed the bed, grabbing his arm. Doggett   
could feel those little hands grabbing at him.   
"Dad, I got somethin' to show you, come see..."   
What is it son? It's early... can it wait?   
"Luke, no... son... wait... stay here..." Doggett   
got out of bed and dropped to his knees,   
clutching at the boy. His child.   
"Come on!" Luke playfully squirmed out of his   
grasp and ran towards the door. "Da-aa-- ad...   
hurry up!"   
"No, Luke, wait, Daddy wants to talk to you..."   
"Come on!"   
Luke had already darted out the door.   
"Wait..." Doggett whispered as he rose to his   
feet to follow.   
  
He followed the sound of his son's laughter.   
"Luke... wait," he said, groping for the wall in   
the dark hallway. "I can't see..."   
His hand brushed a light switch. He flicked it   
on.   
The bright light blinded him at first. Once his   
eyes adjusted, he perceived he was home, but not   
home. John Doggett had grown up in Savannah, but   
he was born in a small town called Democratic Hot   
Springs. A town that was driven to extinction due   
to poor location and even poorer economy. His   
mother had grown up there and his father had   
grudgingly moved there after they were married.   
However, after three children, and a fourth on   
the way and tired of breaking his back as a hired   
field hand with nothing to show for it at the end   
of the day, Jay Stephen Doggett convinced a bank   
to loan him enough money to start the auto repair   
shop in Savannah. They had lived in a hovel for a   
year and a half until the business took off and   
his parents had been able to buy the house his   
indomitable mother was still living in today.   
But Doggett, although the shack they rented from   
a Savannah slum lord was blurry in his mind,   
could recall the small house he lived in as a   
very small boy. He had actually sent Scully and   
Reyes there to hide Scully and the unborn William   
from the creatures hunting them. The combination   
kitchen and living room. The one bedroom, his   
parents' room, off to the side. The very cramped   
upstairs, almost attic-like, where all three   
children shared one room. How he had to wait for   
Stevie to outgrow something before he could have   
anything "new." How he was barefoot most of the   
time. How hard his mother would work. Keeping up   
the house and garden. And also feeding and   
cleaning three energetic children while carrying   
a fourth as she also did laundry for her   
neighbors for a pittance. How he never saw his   
father except at night, when he'd come home from   
the cattle farm and collapse in the armchair and   
Mama ordering the children to leave him alone   
because Daddy was tired and not in the mood for   
any foolishness right now. And how he would sit   
there all night. Not read the newspaper or books   
or talk to his family. Just sit and stare.   
Just like how he was sitting there right now.   
"Daddy..." the childish diminutive slipped from   
Doggett's lips before he even realized it. He   
hadn't called his father that in years, not since   
he was Luke's age.   
His father stared at him dispassionately. "Well?"   
he rumbled. His voice sounded alien to Doggett's   
ears. He hadn't spoken to his father in so long,   
he had almost forgotten what he sounded like.   
His father sounded just like him.   
"Well... what?" Doggett said hesitantly.   
His father raised his arm and pointed out the   
door. "Aren't you going out there?"   
"Out where?"   
"Where the truth is. The truth is out there,   
son."   
"Now I know I'm dreaming," Doggett grumbled.   
His father snorted. "Always hidin'," he scolded   
him. "Never wanting to admit what was right in   
front your face. If it wasn't your mama shieldin'   
you, it was Mellie. Then it was the Marines, then   
Barb and Luke. Who's your savior now, son? The   
FBI? That little girl they teamed you up with?"   
He snorted again in disgust.   
Doggett folded his lips tightly together. "I   
remember why I stopped talking to you," he said   
coldly.   
"And I never lost any sleep over it John," his   
father responded just as frostily. "You might as   
well go," he pointed out the door again. "You   
belong out there, not here. You don't want to be   
in here anyway, I can see it in your eyes, son.   
You're dyin' to get out of here. You're dyin' to   
run away again."   
Doggett stalked past his father, but as he walked   
out the front door, his father commented, "I just   
wonder when you're gonna stop dyin' and start   
livin' John."   
"I started livin'," Doggett growled, "when I   
stopped being your son."   
He walked out the door.   
Doggett blinked again he stepped into the bright   
sunshine. And discovered he was in another   
location. New York. Long Island to be exact. He   
turned around, bewildered. The house he had just   
walked out of was not his boyhood home in   
Georgia. But the house he and Barb had bought and   
produce a child in.   
"Dad! Over here!"   
Doggett whipped his head around. Saw Luke   
standing in the doorway. "It's in here, c'mon,   
hurry up!" the child insisted as he turned and   
ran back inside the house.   
Doggett ran back inside. Saw the familiar   
furnishings of his former home he helped create   
with his wife and son. The toys on the floor. The   
mail on the kitchen table. The houseplants   
everywhere. "Luke... where are you?" Doggett   
called out desperately. I don't care if this is   
a dream, please... just let me see him one more   
time, let me touch his face again... "Luke?"   
"In here!"   
Doggett followed the child's voice into the   
living room. But Luke was no where to be found.   
Instead of his son, there was a stranger standing   
in front of the fireplace, his back to Doggett.   
All Doggett could see was that the man had neatly   
cut brown hair and a long black dress coat,   
appropriate for wintertime.   
"Who'n the hell are you?" Doggett demanded.   
"Where's my son?"   
The stranger turned around. And upon seeing the   
piercing green eyes and the blood soaked business   
suit, Doggett could not suppress his cry of   
surprise and horror. "Oh God! Oh my God..."   
"Hello Doggett," Benjamin Starkweather said   
pleasantly enough, putting his hands in the   
pockets of the winter coat Jerilyn had gotten him   
two years ago for Christmas. "It's been a   
while..."   
Doggett closed his eyes, trying to block out the   
horrifying image of Ben Starkweather's bullet-  
ridden body standing before him. "I want to wake   
up now," Doggett said aloud. "I'd really like to   
wake up now.."   
Ben snorted. "You sure you're asleep?"   
I'm not sure if I'm awake...   
"I'm **not** awake," Doggett retorted.   
Then he opened his eyes. Looked around,   
completely disconcerted. He was back in his   
mother's house in Savannah, in his boyhood   
bedroom. Ben Starkweather, only a foot away from   
him. Ben Starkweather, a Midwesterner uprooted   
and transplanted to a harsh East Coast town. Ben   
Starkweather, the brilliant legal mind, the Law   
firm of Carter, Spangle and Adam's darling. Ben   
Starkweather, Jerilyn's patently jealous husband.   
Ben Starkweather, dead at age thirty, hit by   
bullets meant for Mulder. "I can't be awake..."   
"Look," Ben took a step closer. It took all of   
Doggett's courage to keep himself from backing   
away from the corpse. "I don't exactly have a   
whole lot of time. We've been trying to get your   
attention ever since Melanie called about   
Parker's death. But as usual, you're not exactly   
being very open to the extreme possibilities, as   
my brother-in-law likes to put it."   
"Since when have YOU of all people been open to   
'the extreme possibilities'?"   
"Since I bought the farm," Ben retorted.   
"Oh yeah," Doggett mumbled, having forgotten for   
a moment he was talking to a dead man.   
"And your closed-mindedness is NOT going to help   
find Parker's killer." When Doggett's mouth   
dropped open in shock, Ben nodded. "Yes, that's   
right, Agent Doggett. Your good brother-in-law   
was murdered just as I was. Only it wasn't a   
bullet that killed him. And Parker's death was   
premeditated. Me..." he laughed bitterly. "I was   
just in the wrong place at the wrong time."   
"But how?" Doggett asked. "That's what's gettin'   
me, how could someone have injected Parker with   
the virus? On purpose?"   
"The answer," Ben said smoothly. "Is in your own   
rednecked roots."   
"Some help you are," Doggett grumbled.   
"What do I look like? Clarence?" Ben rolled his   
eyes impatiently. "This murder will be solved a   
whole lot faster if you stop thinking in a linear   
fashion and start thinking outside the box. Using   
'X' as the variable."   
Doggett frowned. "'X' as the... this ain't an X-  
File..."   
"What do all X-Files have in common?"   
"That Mulder is damned lucky he's not dead."   
"From May 19, 1999 to current date, of all   
documented X-Files, Agent Mulder was not the   
agent-of-record..."   
"... because I was..." Doggett said faintly.   
Thought of all the baffling cases he presided   
over. Mulder's disappearance and resurrection.   
The little boy that had been missing for years   
and yet was returned, not aged a day. The man   
that could see through walls. The man made of   
metal. The creature that consumed disease and   
death. The killer dreams. The butt-genie thing.   
The whole "evil-is-a-disease" and Elvis in a   
potato chip concept. The lizard man. The Jesus-  
slug. The oil rig. Mulder and Scully's child. The   
downed fighter jet in Scotland. Time travel. The   
haunted radio station. La Luna Blanca. The Eden   
Project.   
"Nothing is as it seems," he finally said.   
"Nothing is what you think it's gonna be..." he   
looked up at Ben. "Parker never had AIDS, did he?   
Something... or someone else killed him."   
"And that someone is working very hard to cover   
that up," Ben said.   
"But why?" Doggett now eyed Ben suspiciously.   
"And why'n the hell are YOU telling me this? I   
saw my father and I saw my son. Why'm I seein'   
you and not Parker?"   
"Parker is kind of busy now trying to comfort   
Melanie," Ben informed him piously. Then, in a   
humbled voice, he added. "And this is what   
Jerilyn would have wanted."   
"So, if this bullshit dream is 'real', Park's   
spirit is comfortin' Mellie, but you're here with   
me instead of bein' with YOUR widow?"   
"Helping YOU," Ben crossed his bloody arms. "Is   
how I am comforting my widow. Believe it or not,   
John Doggett," Ben made a move towards the door.   
"I loved her. I love her still. I'll always love   
her. But I couldn't keep her. I would have been   
better off trying to lasso a hurricane. But I'm   
with her. Always. Just as," Ben opened the door   
to reveal Luke standing there, grinning ear to   
ear. "He'll always be here. In the spirit,   
anyway."   
Ben glided out as Luke ran in. Luke wrapped his   
arms around Doggett's legs. Trembling, Doggett   
knelt again to the boy's level. "Hey there,"   
Doggett whispered, reaching out to tousle his   
child's blond hair.   
"Dad," Luke said as petulantly as he did when he   
used to call Doggett's old police station when he   
was working late one some case or other. "When   
are you comin' home?"   
"Um... I don't know," Doggett admitted brokenly.   
"I have work to do here first, son."   
Luke crinkled his nose, the nose that was exactly   
like Barbara's. "Can't you hurry up? Or do it   
tomorrow? I wanna see you."   
Doggett couldn't stop the tears now. "I wish I   
could," he wiped the traitorous tears off his   
face with the back of his hand. "But it's not up   
to me."   
Distraught, Luke whimpered. "Daddy, what's wrong?   
Why're you cry in'? Did I do somethin' wrong?"   
"No..." Doggett sobbed. "No... you didn't. I   
just... I just miss you, son," he whispered as he   
held the boy close to him. "That's all. I just   
really miss you."   
"But I'm right here..."   
"I know... I know..."   
*************************************************  
**   
A soft thump woke her. Melanie thought it was the   
door being blown shut, but then heard John   
muttering in his sleep so she pulled her robe on.   
Slipping out of the giant pink, lavender and   
white room she had to share with Chris through   
her girlhood, she crossed over to John's room   
across the hallway.   
She never thought it was fair that the boys had   
their own rooms when she had to share with Chris,   
who was a slob and stole her clothes.   
Quietly, she pushed open the door and found him   
sprawled out on the bed, covers kicked off. He   
looked to be trapped in a bad dream. Guided by   
only the moonlight she tiptoed over to the bed.   
Even in that weak light, she could see the tear   
streaks on his cheeks. He was still talking in   
his sleep.   
"I just miss you, son.... that's all. I just   
really miss you..."   
"Oh Johnny," she sighed as she pulled the sheets   
and quilts over him. She sat down beside his   
unconscious form and wiped his tears away with   
her thumb. "It's okay, I'm here," she whispered   
as she smoothed his hair, trying to smooth away   
the nightmares plaguing him. "I'm right here..."   
Strange that how, moments like this, she felt   
Parker's presence the most. As if he was standing   
behind him.   
If she hadn't been concentrating on her beloved   
brother's distress, if she would have turned   
around, she would have seen her husband's spirit,   
beside her and behind her.   
  
  
December 23, 2001   
Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport   
Savannah, Georgia   
6:45 AM Eastern Standard Time   
"Thank you ma'am," Doggett drawled as he handed a   
ten to the nice little old lady working the   
register at the Starbucks.   
She handed him a five, three ones and fifteen   
cents back. "Thank you, sir. Have a nice   
Christmas, now."   
"Thanks," Doggett said again, carrying his coffee   
to the nearest little table so he could sip at   
his coffee in peace while waiting for his flight.   
With a sigh, he sat down, placing his briefcase,   
newspaper and cell phone on top of the table.   
He stared at the cell phone.   
If you call her this early, she will kill you   
he told himself sternly as he sipped the scalding   
hot house blend.   
Wait a minute, John, you dumb sonfabitch. She   
carries a Nokia and has the same cell service   
like the rest of the feds. Text message her.   
So he typed into his phone: CALL WHEN HAVE   
CHANCE. THX and sent the message. To his   
surprise, by the time he had set the phone down   
and leaned back into his chair to read the sports   
page, his phone rang.   
"John Doggett."   
"Agent Doggett, it's me."   
"Agent Scully," Doggett said formally, although   
the addition of their professional titles was   
more of a playful joke between the friends rather   
than following protocol. "I wasn't expecting you   
to call back until later."   
"It's alright, I'm up," Scully huffed into the   
cell, seeing her breath crystallize and then   
vaporize in the crisp DC winter air. Next to her,   
Starkweather, dressed similar to Scully,   
turtleneck, sweatshirt, slicky pants, two pairs   
of socks and sneakers, ran in place to keep warm.   
The only clothing difference between Scully and   
Starkweather was that Starkweather was wearing a   
baseball cap and had a gray scarf wound around   
her neck and Scully had earmuffs and a purple   
fuzzy scarf knotted at her throat. "What's going   
on?"   
"Dana, I'm sorry, I hate to butt into your   
Christmas like this."   
"It's not a problem, what can I do?"   
"If I had autopsy reports faxed over to you,   
could you take a look and lemme know what you   
think?"   
"Mmmm. Christmas cookies, autopsy reports and   
eggnog, sounds like the perfect holiday mix to   
me," Scully said dryly. "What am I looking for,   
Agent Doggett?"   
"Well... it's hard to explain without goin' into   
a lot of details... but... um... the deceased...   
was... um..."   
"John?" Scully looked at Starkweather, eyebrows   
raised high. Starkweather only shrugged and   
returned the "What-the-fuck?" look back to her.   
"He was... well, he's family, Dana. And his wife,   
my sister, doesn't think he died of natural   
causes. She thinks he was murdered."   
"Then why aren't the police opening an   
investigation?   
"Because as of right now, cause of death is   
listed as complications related to AIDS."   
Scully frowned. "I see."   
"If it wasn't family, Dana, I wouldn't even   
bother. I think the answer is pretty black and   
white. But she asked me to look into it. And she   
hardly ever asks anything of anybody."   
A heavy sigh. "I'll take a look, John, but I   
can't promise anything. And it's going to be hard   
for me to determine anything without actually   
viewing the body."   
Doggett winced at Scully's clinically detached   
manner of referring Parker as 'the body.' "I   
really 'preciate this, Dana."   
"Just remember this when Mulder and I need a   
sitter for Will."   
Doggett grinned. He had a soft spot for William,   
or "Boo" as the Gunmen christened him after   
Mulder and Scully threatened a triple castration   
if they kept calling him "Spooky Jr." "Oh, gee,   
anything but that," he said in mock-horror.   
"If it's possible, have the coroner attach the   
reports as a Word Document to an email and send   
it to my home email address. If not, then have   
them fax the report to Mulder's office at City   
Hall. I'm sure he won't care." There was an   
unspoken rule with the X-Files agents that   
sensitive information was never to be faxed   
directly to the basement office or emailed to   
their FBI email accounts. Too many things had   
mysteriously vanished.   
"Thank you Dana."   
"Enjoy your Christmas, John."   
"You too."   
Scully shook her head as she hung up her phone.   
"Weird..."   
"Damn weird," Starkweather agreed as the women   
started to jog again. This time towards a cafe   
where hot coffee waited. "What the hell WAS that   
all about?"  
"Have you spoken to John since he left for   
Savannah?" Scully's teeth were chattering. She   
was dying for a tall decaf vanilla latte with   
skim milk. And a doughnut. A chocolate doughnut.   
With sprinkles.   
"He called late the other night but we didn't   
talk long because I was half-pissed he called in   
the first place. I got the vibe he was checking   
up on me and tried to cover his tracks by asking   
me some off-the-wall medical question. Why?"   
"He wants me to verify the cause of death of his   
brother-in-law. To see if he died from AIDS or   
not."   
"Brother-in-law???? Death??? Wh.. what?"   
"I didn't know he had any other family."   
"I didn't either... until the other night..."   
Starkweather trailed off, pausing in front of   
"Coffee Is My Friend" Cafe. A delightful little   
coffeehouse close enough to Georgetown to attract   
all the college students but far enough away to   
give it a Washington DC address. "Oh shit."   
"What is it, Jerilyn?" Scully's hand was on the   
door handle. Shivering, she asked "What's wrong?"   
Starkweather closed her eyes. "Oh nothing. I have   
to go to the ER."   
"The ER???? Why????"   
"To see if they can do an emergency foot-from-  
mouth removal surgery. While I'm gone, can you do   
me a favor, Scully?"   
"What?"   
"When Doggett forwards those reports to you, send   
them to me?"   
"Sure... but Jerilyn, what is it?" Now Scully's   
eyes narrowed suspiciously as Starkweather began   
to backpedal from her. "What are you up to?"   
"Me???? Up to anything??? That hurts my   
feelings."   
"You don't have feelings," Scully reminded her.   
"Oh yeah," Starkweather grinned as she turned   
around and trotted off. "See ya later, Scully!"   
she hollered out, waving as she began to jog back   
to Scully's apartment to retrieve her car.   
Scully stared and shook her head.   
She would have thought Starkweather's behavior as   
strange, if she hadn't been her half-brother's   
FBI partner for the last eight years of her life.   
"Mulder-genes," she mumbled as she went instead   
the nice warm coffee shop and ordered her coffee   
and breakfast treat.   
  
  
US Center for Disease Control and Prevention   
Atlanta, Georgia   
12:55 PM Eastern Standard Time   
Doggett realized that he watched way too much   
Nick-at-Nite on his downtime.   
He came to that realization because he had just   
decided that the irritating little man sitting at   
the desk in front of him looked like Boss Hogg   
from "The Dukes of Hazard" but sounded like Frank   
Burns from "M*A*S*H". Two legendary and   
incredibly unlikable characters.   
"Well... uh... Mister Doug-it..."   
"Dog-gett," Doggett automatically corrected him   
for the umpteenth time during the interview.   
"Um... yeah, sure, okay," mumbled Heathcliff   
Routledge, assistant to the Director of the CDC.   
"I... uh... dunno know what else to tell you...   
Mister DOG-gett."   
"Like I said sir," Doggett repeated himself with   
a patience he didn't even realize he had. "I am   
on a fact finding mission. I am researching AIDS.   
And I am curious if there are any diseases out   
there that are similar to AIDS that could be   
contracted in any other way. OR if there had been   
any documented cases of AIDS victims being   
purposely infected. It would only take maybe ten,   
fifteen minutes of the Director's time," he   
finished pleasantly enough. Inside, he was   
seething. Murder is wrong, murder is wrong,   
murder is wrong... he gritted his teeth and   
managed to produce a polite smile.   
"Yeah... well..." Routledge scooted his chair   
over towards his computer and clicked open some   
application or another. Put his flabby face very   
close to the screen. "The Director is gonna be   
out from now until after the New Year. Wouldja   
like to make an appointment for next year then?"   
"I was under the impression," Doggett fought the   
urge to jump over the desk and throttle the fat   
man in front of him. "That I would be able to   
speak to the Director **today**."   
"Well... um..." Routledge shook his head. "Dunno   
who would give you that impression, certainly   
wasn't me. The Director's out for the holidays...   
so... I dunno know what I can tell you Mr. Doug-  
it."   
"Doggett and never mind," Doggett sighed,   
standing up. "Is there someone else who can maybe   
help me instead of the Director?" Because Doggett   
had also been under the impression that the   
Director could help open files on AIDS patients,   
therefore opening the door and maybe a murder   
investigation into the death of Parker Davis.   
"Most people are out for the holidays..."   
"Great," Doggett mumbled.   
He had flown from Savannah to Atlanta for a fat   
lot of nothing.   
So much for thinking outside of the box he   
griped to himself as he left the CDC building.   
About an hour later...   
Atlanta Underground   
50 Upper Alabama Street   
Atlanta, Georgia   
Still in a sulk, Doggett stormed around the mall.   
He figured that even though he had wasted his   
time at the CDC, he could at least get his last   
minute Christmas shopping done. And that maybe   
the theory of "'Tis better to give than receive"   
would help improve his mood.   
It was a good theory. Too bad he forgot that it   
was two days before Christmas.   
The mall was packed. And it seemed that everyone,   
shoppers and retailers alike were in an even   
fouler mood than Doggett was. People were   
jostling and bumping into each other without so   
much as an "Excuse me." The air was thick with   
complaints. Complaints about how much this or   
that was. Complaints about how busy the mall was.   
Complaints about how rude everyone was.   
Complaints about how they wished Christmas was   
over and done with.   
It was so bad that Doggett had even gotten into a   
shouting match with a rotund woman over the last   
giant plush 'Tigger' doll at the Disney Store. He   
ended up letting the woman have the damn thing.   
Mostly because he was afraid she was going to hit   
him. Then he was going to have to arrest her for   
assaulting a federal agent. And he just didn't   
want to deal with the extra paperwork.   
So as the fat cow pranced off with the 'Tigger,   
without even looking, Doggett grabbed the first   
plush toy he could lay his hands on and stalked   
to the register. After he had paid for it, he   
took a good look at the big blue furry thing he   
had just purchased. "What'n the hell did I just   
buy????" he had moaned outside of the store.   
Granted he wasn't exactly up to speed on Disney   
movies anymore, but this thing sure didn't look   
like Eeyore or Pooh-bear. "Chris is gonna kill   
me," he had sighed as he pushed his way through   
the hordes of shoppers to find a special gift for   
Melanie.   
Doggett ducked into a shop that was a little too   
cutesy for his taste, but it was right up   
Melanie's alley. She liked figurines and jewelry.   
The more feminine, the better. Chris had always   
been the little tomboy, running with Stevie and   
Johnny. Mellie was the lady, the surrogate mother   
when Mama was too busy tending to the house or   
tending to their father. Doggett frowned as he   
looked up, staring at a collection of 'Wizard of   
Oz' figurines. Melanie had loved that movie as a   
kid. So had Luke. Barb had dressed him up one   
year as the 'Cowardly Lion' for Halloween.   
"Can I help you sir?" a sales associate asked him   
politely, breaking into his reverie.   
"No thanks," Doggett said, reaching for a 'Glenda   
the Good Witch' figurine on the top shelf. "Found   
what I was lookin' for."   
"Would you like me to wrap that for you then, if   
that's all you're needing today?"   
"Yeah... that'd be great, thanks," Doggett   
mumbled as he followed the girl to the register.   
After Doggett handed the sales associate his   
credit card, he felt something sharp prod him in   
the back. "Ow!" he yelped out, turning around,   
fully intending to say something nasty to whoever   
poked him with their umbrella.   
But words failed him when he saw who it was.   
"Oh my God," Lindsay Buckle nee Amos nearly   
dropped her purse, shopping bags and decorative   
parasol she had just bought. "JD? Is that really   
you?"  
Meanwhile...   
Mrs. Doggett's house   
Savannah, Georgia   
Mrs. Doggett was just pouring coffee for herself   
and her daughters when the doorbell rang. "I'll   
get it!" Laura announced, scooting off of the   
kitchen chair and running towards the front door.   
"Who in the world could THAT be?" Mrs. Doggett   
frowned, looking at the clock. "I'm not expecting   
company. Are either one of you girls?"   
As Chris and Melanie shook their heads, Laura   
came running back to the kitchen. "Mama, Grandma,   
Auntie Mel, there's a strange lady at the door.   
She talks funny. She askin' if Uncle John's   
here."   
The adult women stared at each other, confused.   
"Did she say her name, honey?" Chris asked her   
daughter.   
"Yeah... it was... um... Sta... Sta... I dunno.   
It was a funny last name."   
"Starkweather?" Melanie asked.   
"How'dja know?" Laura was awestruck at her aunt's   
telepathic abilities.  
Melanie smiled at Laura as Chris admonished her   
to finish her homework. As Laura sat back down at   
the kitchen table to write her book report,   
Melanie said to Mrs. Doggett and Chris, "I'll go   
talk to her."   
"Who is this Starkweather-person?" Mrs. Doggett   
demanded.   
"The lady that makes Uncle John's ears turn   
pink," Laura explained.   
"Laura. Homework. Now," Chris said sternly as   
Melanie left the room.   
Before letting her in though, Melanie, feeling   
like a chicken, peeped through the lacy curtains   
to get a look at her. Oh John she sighed to   
herself even as she smiled. How did I know she   
was going to be a blond?   
Besides masses of shiny blond hair, neatly pulled   
back into a perfect bun at the nape of her neck,   
Melanie thought that this mystery girl was fairly   
unremarkable in appearance. Short but trim,   
physically fit. She wore neatly pressed black   
slacks and a matching lightweight black blazer   
over a deep red blouse. Her winter coat,   
necessary back home but useless here, was draped   
over her right arm. Her left hand held a black   
briefcase. Melanie saw the twinkle of a diamond   
on her left ring finger.   
Melanie pulled herself away from the window and   
went to the front door. "May I help you?" Melanie   
asked as she observed the heart-shaped face,   
pouty lips, perfect eye-brows and hazel eyes that   
radiated intelligence, arrogance and control. And   
kindness. And an extreme sadness. Maybe she   
isn't as homely as I thought Melanie thought.   
Actually, she was quite pretty, on second look.   
"I'm sorry to bother you ma'am," the woman said   
politely enough as she reached into her blazer's   
pocket, fished out an FBI ID and held it up for   
Melanie to read. "My name is Dr. Jerilyn   
Starkweather, I'm a federal agent with the FBI.   
I'm looking for either John Doggett or Melanie   
Doggett Davis."   
"I'm Melanie," Melanie beckoned Starkweather   
inside. "I'm sorry but John's not here... are you   
here to help with Parker?"   
"Yes I am, Mrs. Davis," one widow said to the   
other. "Or I'm going to at least try to anyway."   
  
Meanwhile   
Back at the Atlanta Underground...   
"Haven't been called that since high school,"   
Doggett admitted as he signed the sales receipt   
and then accepting his credit card back.   
"Thanks," he told the sales associate as she   
handed him the shopping bag. Turning back to   
Lindsay, he asked "How're you doin'?"   
She looked like she was doing fabulous. Dressed   
to the nines in a Christian Dior suit and Gucci   
shoes. She looked older, granted. Just like he   
knew he did. She had a few crow's feet by her big   
cornflower eyes. Her complexion wasn't as peachy   
or creamy as it had been in high school. But she   
was still tall, blond and lovely, reminding him   
of a Hollywood actress. Heather Locklear maybe.   
"Oh you know. Busy. What about you JD? We missed   
you at the last class reunion." She beamed at   
him.   
"Well," he said mildly. "Ever since I got   
transferred to DC, I don't get down here much   
anymore."   
"What brings you to Atlanta? I thought most of   
your family was still in Savannah?"   
"They are," Doggett said, amazed how an   
intelligent, mature, borderline boring man like   
himself could feel like a blithering idiot when   
in the presence of an old flame. "I'm in town for   
a case," a polite white lie, "and I thought I'd   
finish up some Christmas shopping 'fore I flew   
back to Savannah."   
"For anyone special?" she interrogated lightly,   
eyeing the very feminine packages.   
He grinned. "My niece and my older sister."   
"Oh," she breathed, nodding as she tried to be   
inconspicuous while eyeing his left hand,   
searching for that telltale flash of gold on his   
ring finger. "When do you have to go back to   
Savannah?"   
"Tonight."   
"Do you have any other pressing appointments this   
afternoon?"   
"Lindsay," he grinned. "You were never good at   
bein' subtle."   
She turned a soft shade of pink. "That's why I   
was a cheerleader in high school and lawyer now,"   
she smiled. "If you don't have any plans, I would   
love it if you spent the rest of the afternoon   
with me. I haven't seen you in so long..." her   
voice trailed off.   
"Okay," he said softly, taking her heavy shopping   
bags from her. "That would be... nice," he   
finished lamely with a sheepish grin.   
Which made Lindsay burst out in merry laughter.   
"Oh bless your heart, JD, I forgot how sweet you   
are when you get flustered," she chuckled as she   
companionably took his free arm and together they   
walked out of the store. "Your ears still turn   
red."   
Doggett could feel the rest of his face changing   
colors to match his ears.   
A little later   
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital   
5353 Reynolds Street   
Savannah Georgia   
"Thank you very much," Starkweather said as   
Parker Davis's specialist, Doctor Juliette Joel   
signed the release forms, authorizing the   
hospital to release all of Parker's medical files   
to Dr. Jerilyn Starkweather and Special Agent   
John Doggett.   
"Well, it's not a problem but... Dr.   
Starkweather, may I speak frankly?" Dr. Joel   
frowned, drumming her fingers on her fancy desk.   
"Absolutely," Starkweather said, taking the   
authorization forms from the doctor that Melanie   
had signed previously. "Please."   
"I honestly don't know what good this wild goose   
chase is going to do," Dr. Joel said. "I don't   
think it's healthy for Mrs. Davis to keep   
clinging to this fantasy of murder. Parker died   
of an AIDS-related complication."   
"I understand and appreciate your candor,"   
Starkweather sighed. "However... I can also   
understand Mrs. Davis' insistence that we exhaust   
every possibility as to why and how Mr. Davis   
died."   
"Even to the point of extreme denial?"   
"Denial is a part of the grieving process.   
Perhaps if we show Mrs. Davis irrefutable proof   
that Mr. Davis did indeed contract the HIV virus   
through normal avenues and therefore died of the   
AIDS related complications, she may be able to   
move on."   
"I still fail to see how you as a medically   
trained professional and an FBI agent want to   
humor her," Dr. Joel said grumpily.   
"Because her brother is my partner and my   
friend," Starkweather said coolly. "And because I   
emphasize with her. My husband died three weeks   
ago. He was gunned down in front of me. I watched   
him bleed to death." She looked at her hands.   
Sometimes she could still feel blood clinging to   
them. She rubbed her palms together like Lady   
Macbeth and waited for the doctor to respond.   
Dr. Joel hung her head, mortified. "I'm sorry...   
I... didn't mean to be rude, I've been working   
over at the ER, they're short on help and I'm   
short on sleep..."   
"That's alright... that's also why I ran   
screaming from private practice and towards the   
Bureau." Now that the ice had been broken,   
Starkweather prodded the doctor. "Tell me more   
about Mr. Davis."   
"Parker was in bad shape when my colleague   
referred him to my care. He was spiraling down   
the drain. The pneumoycystis carinii was already   
well entrenched. Plus it didn't help that he had   
an allergy to antibiotics."   
"He did?????" Starkweather stared at the doctor   
in surprise.   
"Why, yes, it was well documented in the APS...   
why?"   
Starkweather pulled out a little notebook from   
her coat pocket. "What is the name of the   
colleague that was attending Mr. Davis? The one   
who referred him to your care?"   
"Dr. Loki Kullervo." Dr. Joel spelled out her   
first and last name for her very slowly and   
provided her work, home and cell phone number.   
"Why do you ask?"   
"Dr. Joel," Starkweather said abruptly, snapping   
her notebook shut. "I appreciate all of your   
assistance. But I'm afraid that I must cut this   
short."   
"The ladies in Medical Records Department will be   
able to help you find all of Parker's files," Dr.   
Joel said, standing up to shake the hand   
Starkweather offer. "Good luck to you Agent   
Starkweather."   
"Thanks," Starkweather said, dying to be away.   
"I'll need it."   
  
Melanie was reading a magazine in the waiting   
room when Agent Starkweather burst in.   
John Doggett wasn't the only one in the family   
who was good at reading people's facial   
expressions. In fact, it would almost be safe to   
say Melanie was the one who taught him how.   
"What is it?" she asked Starkweather   
breathlessly, hand to her thought.   
The blond agent was very pale except for two   
unattractive pink blotches on her cheeks. Her   
lips were folded tight. Her eyes were also   
narrowed and for one weird moment, Melanie   
thought her eye color was changing to match her   
mood But that's silly, Mellie. Eye color   
doesn't change. They're brown. They just look   
green in this lighting. An evil, angry,   
poisonous green. John's partner was definitely   
not happy.   
"Mrs. Davis," Starkweather said, sitting beside   
her on the ugly hospital waiting room furniture.   
"Back at your mother's house, when you were   
telling me about Parker's medical history, you   
said he had no allergies whatsoever."   
"Right."   
"You sure? You absolutely positively sure?"   
"Of course I'm sure. I'm the one with allergies.   
I can't have shellfish. Whenever we'd go out to   
eat, he'd always order seafood because it's the   
one thing I couldn't cook for him. I break out in   
hives if I even touch it. And if I eat it, my   
throat swells shut."   
"No known allergies to any medications?   
Antibiotics?"   
"No... the doctor would always give antibiotics.   
Parker didn't get sick often, but sometimes he'd   
come down with a bad sinus infection."   
"Always? Amoxicillin? Ampicillin?   
Clarithromycin?"   
"I... I dunno. I'd just get the prescription and   
have it filled. I never really paid attention.   
But I know it'd be an antibiotic. Why?"   
"Do you remember what medicines the doctors were   
giving him to treat his ARC pneumonia?"   
"Um..." Melanie tried to think. Starkweather   
chewed on her thumbnail. "I can't remember, Agent   
Starkweather."   
"Penicillin? TMP and SMX? Uh... Tetracyclines?   
Macrolides?" Starkweather then rattled off the   
brand names of the same drugs as opposed to the   
generic titles. "Amoxil? Bactrim? Minocin?   
Biaxin? Are any of these ringing any bells?"   
"No, I'm sorry."   
"Mrs. Davis... there's one thing that I'm   
confused about that we haven't talked about   
yet.... WHY was your husband tested for HIV?"   
"Because we were updatin' our life insurance   
policies," Melanie answered. "Our policies from   
our jobs weren't good enough, so we decided to   
buy individual policies. And the type of policy   
we wanted, required us to sign a consent to test   
for HIV form, a blood test and a urine test. And   
Parker's tests came back positive." She laughed   
hollowly. "And of course Parker's policy was   
denied. And the policy from work will barely   
cover funeral expenses." She looked drained.   
Starkweather felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry   
to keep pushing like this..."   
"That's alright. After John's description of you,   
I wouldn't expect any less."   
What the hell has he been saying about me?   
Starkweather wondered but did not ask. She asked   
instead: "But you came back negative?"   
"Yes."   
"What's the name of the insurance company you   
applied for?"   
"Stesson and Doyle Insurance Wholesalers Inc.   
SDIW."   
"Do you have a card for them?"   
Melanie dug into her big purse and pulled out her   
day runner. She opened the zipper on the front   
and pulled out the insurance company's business   
card. "Agent Starkweather... I'm not sure if I   
follow you line of thinking."   
"I'm thinking I want to get my hands on Parker's   
medical history," Starkweather said grimly,   
getting up to go to Medical Records.   
Melanie followed, heart pounding.   
A little later on...   
Phoenix Brewing Company   
5600 Roswell Road   
Atlanta Georgia   
"I thought this place might suit you better than   
anything else," Lindsay said as she gracefully   
slid into the booth.   
Doggett grinned. "Aw, c'mon, Lindsay, I ain't   
that much of a redneck that I can't go into the   
fancier restaurants with the cloth napkins."   
"Oh I know," she lightly quipped. "But I also   
know how much the Bureau pays their fine agents."   
"Hey, we did get a three percent raise this   
year... or was that a three cent raise??" Doggett   
pretended to ponder over that as Lindsay giggled   
and shook her head.   
"Still a smart ass."   
"Better'n than a dumb ass. Now, you were   
promisin' to show me some pictures once we sat   
down?"   
"Oh, yes, I didn't forget," Lindsay said just as   
a waitress came to take their order. When she   
left again, Lindsay pulled out a sleek leather   
wallet from her expensive purse and opened it up.   
Took out two photographs and handed them over to   
Doggett.   
"Now, that's my oldest daughter Kirsten. She'll   
be thirteen in March, God help us," She laughed   
lightly. "And the youngest is Brittany. She's   
nine. Just had a birthday."   
Doggett examined the school pictures. Kirsten had   
short curly blond hair while Brittany's golden   
hair was long and straight. They both had their   
mother's cerulean eyes. "They take after you," he   
told her politely as he handed the pictures back.   
"How's Warren?"   
"Busy," she said a little too brightly as she put   
the pictures back in her wallet. "When my father-  
in-law died last spring, Warren took over the   
family business." She sighed. "I've been meanin'   
to tell you... I heard about Parker Davis... I   
keep in touch with a few of my girlfriends back   
home. I'm so sorry. I sent Mellie a card."   
"I'm sure she appreciated it," Doggett mumbled as   
the waitress returned with their drinks.   
"You know," she said thoughtful, swirling her   
drink around with the little cocktail straw. "I   
never believed the 'official' story that went   
'round high school, that Parker got hurt in a car   
wreck. I always figured those rednecked idiots   
Dexter Gillory and Cy Lewis had something to do   
with it. They picked on Parker horribly." She   
smiled gently at Doggett. "I always thought it   
was nice of you to stand up for Parker. You were   
like his shadow until you went away to the   
military. 'Course," she laughed again. "Some said   
you were only nice to 'im 'cause Mellie told you   
to be."   
Doggett felt extremely uncomfortable and   
extremely guilty. "Mellie had nothing to do with   
that," he said softly. "Parker was a decent guy.   
Just nobody at school would give him a chance.   
And those bast- um... those jerks Dex and Cy   
always went after the runts. I know Dex got   
killed in Lebanon a few years back-" the ultimate   
irony. Doggett, after being honorably discharged   
from the Marines after being wounded in Lebanon,   
had found out that Dex Gillroy had been stationed   
there too with the Army. And had died in the   
conflict. "- but what 'bout Cy? Whatever happened   
to him?"   
"That idiot," Lindsay spat out angrily. "He's in   
jail."   
"In jail? For what??"   
"Murder. Got drunk, shot off his mouth. Picked a   
fight and killed a man. He should have gotten   
life, but he plea-bargained and is doing thirty   
years instead, eligible for parole in ten...   
which I think is coming up soon." She shook her   
head. "Idiot. He was just a purebred idiot. I   
still remember those boys strutting 'round   
school, thinking they were God's gift 'cause they   
were football players. Cy and Dex and your   
brother Stevie. Carl Betton. Austin Taylor. And   
Dex's little sister Delilah was always taggin'   
'long... of course, we all thought she had a   
thing for Cy. Child never was quite right in the   
head. And then," she looked up at him. "There was   
you."   
"Yeah... there was me."   
"You were never like the others. I said that to   
that reporter who was doin' that story on you and   
your FBI partner bein' at the World Trade Center   
on September 11. You were never like the others.   
You were the peacemaker. You never paid attention   
to who's daddy made how much money or if they   
were white or black or whatever. You were   
different from the rest of the boys. That's what   
I remember most about you, JD."   
Doggett squirmed under her soft, gentle gaze.   
"Sounds like you're readin' my eulogy, Lindsay,"   
he tried to quip.   
Lindsay looked up at him, her blue eyes devoid of   
guile. "When you left for the Marines, you might   
as well have died," she looked down at the table   
again. "When you left... You disappeared off the   
face of the earth." She sounded wounded.   
"I wrote when I could, Linz," he replied, softly.   
And a little defensively.   
"It was just too hard," she whispered. She took a   
sip of her vodka sweet-and-sour, felt the liquid   
courage enter her mouth, go down her throat and   
into her stomach. "I mean, after all," she   
laughed without a trace of humor. "I caught quite   
a bit of flack for datin' you. Me bein' a cradle-  
robbin' senior, takin' a sophomore boy to the   
prom."   
"Funny," Doggett said dryly. "I remember thinkin'   
that you only asked me because Stevie pissed you   
off."   
"Well, he did piss me off!" she spouted off   
indignantly. "He asked me if he could take me to   
the prom, then that cheap little slut Aimee Clark   
up and asks him. So he dumps me to take HER???   
Ooh that made me so mad!" Then, embarrassed, she   
admitted. "And I knew askin' you would send him   
through the roof." She sighed. "It was petty and   
it was cruel. And childish... Twenty-twenty   
hindsight." She took another drink. "But it   
turned out alright in the end, I think..."   
They were silent as the waitress brought them   
their entrees. When she went away, Doggett   
mumbled, "I wish it could have been different,   
Linz. I... I dunno know what else to say."   
Ironically, it was Parker and Melanie that helped   
him chose the road that would lead him away from   
Lindsay and Savannah and towards Barbara and New   
York. And Luke.   
Tybee Island aka Savannah Beach   
Savannah Georgia   
June 10, 1976   
The waves rolled in from the distant blue of the   
Atlantic and wiped away the trail of footprints   
two teenagers left behind they as they walked   
alone the shore line.   
The tall, skinny boy had thick, wavy hair, brown   
like the sand he walked on. The thick wavy hair   
camouflaged his prolific ears and the bump on the   
back of his head he earned when he was pushed   
down a flight of stairs. But it was still tender   
to the touch. His sky blue eyes were clouded by   
the black and purple bruises around them. His   
lips, never before owning that pouty rock-star   
quality young girls swooned over as they gathered   
to listen to their latest LPs, were still puffy.   
He walked not like a carefree sixteen year old   
boy, but like an old man. Stiff. Sore.   
Uncomplaining about the bruises his t-shirt   
covered up. He carried his tennis shoes as well   
as her sandals.   
The girl next to him had a deep dark tan and eyes   
blue like the distant Atlantic. Her long hair,   
neatly parted down the middle, was the color of   
the sun and hung well below her dererrie. She   
wore white hip huggers and a pink halter top. An   
outfit her parents would rail at if they had   
known she was wearing it. Her baby face belied   
her age of eighteen although she had the body of   
a supple twenty-five year old.   
Strangers observing the couple from the distance   
thought that it was a pair of nice kids enjoying   
all the freedoms summer had to offer. If they   
would have ventured closer, they would have seen   
the tears running down the girl's cheeks.   
"Why can't you tell me who did this to you, JD?"   
Lindsay Amos whimpered as the waves crashed over   
her feet. "Was it Cy or Dex? You know my daddy's   
a lawyer. Even if Sheriff Gillroy's Dex's father,   
we could still get them. They've been nothin' but   
trouble but the first day that they drew breath."   
"Linz, it wasn't them," John told her again.   
"How long have you been stayin' with Park? Aren't   
your folks worried?"   
"I've been with them for almost a week." He did   
not tell her that most of that week, he had been   
as good as unconscious.   
"When are you goin' home? JD, you can't... your   
folks won't allow for it," Lindsay said,   
horrified that "a good boy" like Johnny Doggett   
could be so rebellious as to run away from home.   
It was unheard of.   
"Um... I'll be goin' home soon, but I won't be   
stayin' there for long..."   
"Why? Where are you goin'?"   
"Away..."   
Lindsay stopped him. It was getting dark but it   
was still very warm outside. Still, she shivered.   
"Where's away?"   
"I'm gonna join the Marines."   
"But that's when you graduate from high school...   
oh my God... you're leaving????? Now?!?!?!?! But   
I thought you had to be eighteen!"   
  
"There's ways 'round that," John mumbled.   
"How??"   
"Park's uncle's a recruiter... he helped sign me   
up. He's gonna help me get my GED..." John closed   
his eyes, hearing his friend and his sister's   
voices in his ears...   
**"We can take him up to Atlanta tomorrow...   
Tony's a good guy... he'll help out. He can bend   
the rules for us. Hell, if worse comes to worse,   
we can forge your mama or daddy's signature on a   
form that lets minors join the service. We'll get   
'im outta here, Mellie..."**   
**Park... I ain't gonna leave Mellie and Mama and   
Chris behind... not after all of this... I'm not   
doin' that to 'em..."**   
**"Johnny... what'n the hell are we gonna do if   
he kills you? We'll be fine... but you can't   
stay..."**   
"But why?" Lindsay wept. "Why are you leaving? I   
know I'm going to college this fall, but I'm   
staying here in Savannah for school. So I'm gonna   
still be here... I just don't understand...."   
**"Mellie, he ain't gonna kill me..."**   
**"Johnny, I've never seen Daddy this mad   
before..."**   
**"JD, you helped me out... you saved my ass from   
Dex and Cy... lemme do the same for you..."**   
"Because I can't stay," John blurted out, feeling   
dangerously close to tears himself. "I got into a   
fight with my father and I can't stay..." he hung   
his head, squeezing his eyes tight.   
He heard Lindsay gasp. "He did this??? Your   
father... oh God..."   
He felt her arms wrap around his neck. Felt her   
soft body pressed up against his, shaking as she   
sobbed. Felt her tears dampening her t-shirt.   
Heard her sobbing. "Don't go, oh don't go. Stay   
with us. My folks will understand. Or maybe you   
could stay with one of my uncles... or something,   
just don't go..."   
"I already signed the paperwork." He could barely   
get the words out.   
Lindsay clung to him tighter now. "When do you   
leave?" she choked out.   
"First of August," he reached up with his free   
hand to stroke her hair. "Linz, I'm sorry..."   
She broke away from him just enough so she could   
stand up and kiss him full on the mouth. John   
winced a little, just because his lips were still   
tender from where his father had hit him, but   
when he felt her tongue slip between his teeth,   
he disregarded the slight pain.   
"This isn't fair," she whispered when they broke   
apart again. She stroked his face and pushed his   
hair out of his eyes. "This isn't fair... We   
just... I just... and... and you're leavin'..."   
"I'll write you," he promised.   
"I'll write you too," she stood on her toes to   
kiss him again. When that kiss finally ended, she   
whispered brokenly. "I love you."   
"I love you too, Lindsay."   
And the boy learned what a broken heart really   
felt like, even as they slipped away from the   
beach, towards Lindsay's grandparents' house.   
Which both kids knew damn well was sitting empty   
as Lindsay's grandparents spent most of their   
summers in Florida.   
Back to the present...   
Doggett mumbled, "I wish it could have been   
different, Linz. I... I dunno know what else to   
say... I mean... we were kids and... I just don't   
know..."   
"It's alright. Lookin' back with twenty-twenty   
hindsight... it probably wouldn't have worked   
anyway." Lindsay said faintly, picking half-  
heartedly at her meal. "I'm sorry," she said   
huskily.   
"Me too," Doggett said.   
"When do you have to be at the airport?" Lindsay   
asked.   
"I should go pretty soon."   
She nodded.   
She reached across the small table and ran her   
fingers down his face, slowly, gently, all the   
way to his throat, lingering for a moment.   
He closed his eyes and felt an involuntary shiver   
go down his spine.   
His voice was more graveled that usual when he   
told her as gently as possible. "I can't stay   
Lindsay."   
"I know," she lowered her head.   
"I have to go soon."   
"Would you like a ride to the airport?"   
"No... I'll take a cab, thanks."   
Her eyes misted over. "It was good seeing you   
again, John."   
She finally caught on. He wasn't the sixteen year   
old boy she had been infatuated with twenty-five   
years ago.   
"It was good seein' you too, Lindsay." And she   
definitely was no longer the sweet fresh-face   
girl he had carried a torch for all this time.   
"Thanks," she said as she slid out of the booth.   
She pulled her wallet out of her purse and pulled   
out two crisp twenties and a ten and laid them on   
the table.   
"Aw, Linz, you don't have to-"   
"I want to. It's okay, really." She smiled   
sardonically. "See I chose to marry for money.   
Surely you remember what they called me in high   
school. 'The Prissy Princess'?" She smiled.   
"Consider it my Christmas present to you." She   
placed her manicured hands on his shoulder.   
"Don't be stranger, okay?"   
"Alright," he said, smiling up at her. "Take care   
of yourself, Linz."   
"Give Mellie my condolences," she said, giving   
his shoulder a squeeze. Before walking away, she   
whispered "Park was lucky to have a friend like   
you."   
Doggett watched her leave. Then pulled out his   
cell phone to call a cab.   
And saw he had two missed calls. One from   
Melanie.   
One from Starkweather.   
  
Later...   
United Airlines Flight 42   
On the runway of Hartsfield International Airport   
Atlanta Georgia   
8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time   
Doggett had chosen to fly back and forth from   
Savannah to Atlanta to save time. It was a four   
hour drive in between the cities, could be five   
or six, depending on rush hour traffic.   
Ironically, his flight had been delayed for three   
and a half hours. Just as he was about to pitch   
in the towel and go find a car rental, the   
announcement came that the flight was ready for   
take off.   
So, feeling cramped by the laughably small   
airline seats, Doggett stared out of the window   
as the plane taxied itself out of the boarding   
area and moved down the runway, gaining speed for   
it's beginning ascent.   
He looked at his phone as the plane rose into the   
pitch black sky. He had been playing phone tag   
with Melanie and Starkweather all night. He   
looked out the window again, seeing the lights of   
Atlanta below, twinkling like little stars.   
He wondered what bug crawled up Starkweather's   
ass and died this time.   
He hoped Melanie got his message about his flight   
being delayed and that someone would be there to   
pick him up.   
He then thought about what Lindsay had said.   
"Park was lucky to have a friend like you."   
"Bullshit," he mumbled, putting the phone back in   
his coat pocket.   
Doggett felt it was the other way around.   
And he still hadn't done jack shit as to   
discovering how Parker was infected with HIV.   
Which turned into AIDS. Which left him   
defenseless to the cold which turned into   
pneumonia. Which killed him.   
Closing his eyes, feeling a bone-aching weariness   
come over him, Doggett leaned his head back   
against the seat. Thought about Park and Mellie.   
Remembered how happy they had been. How well-  
suited they were for each other, even though they   
were polar opposites. Parker being somewhat shy   
and Melanie, anything but. Parker was sort of a   
slob, Melanie, organized to the point of anal-  
retentive. Parker with his dark hair and eyes.   
Melanie, fair-haired and blue-eyed. Parker and   
his numerous cats he'd adopted over the years.   
Melanie and her faithful greyhounds she had   
rescued over the years when the racetracks tired   
of them when they were too old to run.   
Parker and Melanie had pets because they couldn't   
have children.   
Luke's death had devastated Park and Mellie as   
much as it had John and Barb. Now Doggett could   
feel Melanie's loss.   
He recalled the dream from the night before and   
shuddered. He didn't know what part of it was   
worse. Seeing his father or seeing Ben   
Starkweather.   
He pushed the ghosts out of his mind and tried to   
think about Park's death. But seeing Lindsay   
today unnerved him and he couldn't help thinking   
about that. Thinking about her. And others.   
Not that he had ever had much success with other   
women. In fact, he could count on one hand how   
many women had had been with in the Biblical   
sense.   
There was Lindsay, of course. Who relieved him of   
his virginity in the murky hours between the   
dance and the after-hours party on Prom Night.   
And of course, for so many teenagers, then and   
now, it had been anticlimactic. After all, he had   
been sixteen and had no idea what the hell he was   
doing. And she didn't have much of clue either,   
since most of her knowledge of sex at that time   
had come from her other pure-as-the-driven-snow   
girlfriends and cheesy Harlequin romance novels.   
Despite the supreme embarrassment of their mutual   
first time, or perhaps because of it, they stuck   
together. And by and by, managed to get the hang   
of it. And comprehend what all the fuss was   
about. Because Lindsay was the first one to catch   
on. She stopped posing and posturing and trying   
to do it how it was displayed on the movies and   
portrayed in novels. Once she let instinct guide   
her, guide her hands and lips and mouth, the sex   
improved tenfold. And he, the eager learner,   
followed her lead.   
Absently Doggett touched his throat as he   
continued to stare out the tiny airplane window.   
Remembering the crazy month and a half before he   
left for training, how he would sneak away to   
meet Lindsay in her grandparents' empty house.   
How on the day he told her he was leaving, she   
cried when he took off his shirt and she saw all   
the bruises up and down his chest and back. How   
she kissed each bruise until tears came to his   
eyes.   
But it wouldn't have worked. Like Doggett said,   
they were just kids. Hormone-ridden kids. And   
like Lindsay said, she chose to marry for money.   
She had never known what it was like to live   
without money. And Doggett, as much as he had   
cared for her when she was a girl, as much as he   
was still attracted to her now, knew she would   
not have been happy as a poor man's wife. She   
would have divorced him faster than what Barb   
did.   
Then there was Deeandra Johnson, the woman who   
almost became Mrs. John Doggett instead of   
Barbara. They met just when he moved to New York   
to be a cop. She was a waitress at a bar a lot of   
the police cadets like to congregate at whenever   
they had nonexistent free time. Doggett   
remembered that he liked talking to her because   
she wasn't as skanky as the other waitresses.   
That she had a pretty face and laughed easily.   
And was very down to earth. And shy. And sweet.   
She was working her way through college. She   
wanted to be a journalist, preferably a   
television anchor. Things were great the two   
years that they were together. She eventually   
moved in with him. They talked about the future   
while laying in bed together. Doggett remembered   
even canvassing the jewelry stores, starting to   
look at diamond rings in a whole new light.   
Then, a few short months later, he looked at her   
in a new light. He thought it was just the flu.   
She said it was just the flu. Then she said she   
was going to spend the weekend at a girlfriend's   
house in upstate New York.   
It was his friend and partner with the NYPD who   
told him about the abortion. Doggett could still   
clearly remember Officer Jason Mick's normally   
round happy face looking so morose. "Johnny... I   
hate to be the one who gotta tell ya... but I   
gotta tell ya..."   
It was the closest he had ever come to hitting a   
woman he loved.   
She had begged for him to understand. She said   
she wasn't ready for children. She said she would   
have to drop out of college to care for a baby,   
that she would lose any and all opportunities in   
the mass media field. She said she was afraid of   
his reaction. That he would leave her. That he   
would marry her and decide it was a mistake, then   
leave her. She said she thought she did the right   
thing.   
It wasn't the fact that she terminated the   
pregnancy that infuriated him. It was the fact   
that she lied to him about it. Their relationship   
couldn't stand a blow like that. It disintegrated   
completely after that. Doggett had no idea where   
Deeandra went after she moved out and truth be   
told, he didn't care.   
Because after Deeandra, was Barbara.   
But he didn't want to think about Barbara.   
Because thinking of Barbara meant he had to think   
about not only Luke but of his friends Jason and   
Minerva Mick. Minerva, Jason's spirited wife who   
lived for three things, her family, corporate law   
and matchmaking. She was the one who introduced   
Barb to him. Minerva, sweet Minni, who had been   
raising three girls by herself ever since   
September 11.   
So he thought about Reyes instead.   
To this day, he will never understand this   
"thing" with Reyes. She said they met the day his   
son was found in that field in South Carolina.   
That whole day was a blur to him. He was too   
consumed in trying to figure out why his little   
boy was laying dead in a field so far from home.   
He had been oblivious to everything, everyone   
else.   
He couldn't pinpoint when he and Reyes started to   
speak on a regular basis. She was definitely   
different. She would go for long stretches of   
time without talking to him, then she would   
randomly call out of the blue. To see how he was.   
How he was doing. And she always seemed to know   
exactly when to call.   
So they became friends. Met for drinks. Talked on   
the phone from time to time. Sometimes caught a   
ballgame together. It was so easy to talk to her.   
Granted, she was a little... weird at times.   
Spacey... flaky almost. And there. Always there.   
Naturally it had been Reyes he turned to when he   
discovered that Barb had started sleeping with   
someone else. After Luke's death, Doggett and   
Barb took separate roads of grieving. Doggett   
became very introverted. Barb on the other   
hand.... did not.   
He wasn't sure when he and Reyes crossed that   
line from platonic to not-so-platonic. Maybe it   
was the night he signed the final divorce papers   
and she had run into his drunk ass at the bar. He   
wasn't sure. But one day, he was sleeping on her   
couch. The next, next to her in her bed. It was   
disorientating. And intoxicating. Because he   
wasn't blind. She was a beautiful woman. With her   
velvet brown eyes, long legs, raven hair and   
golden heart.   
But she had that thing for that son-of-bitch   
Follmer. He didn't understand why. She was so   
depressed when he was transferred to Minneapolis   
even though she said it was better that he was   
gone. Then the bast*rd came back to New York,   
crooked his little finger and Reyes had gone to   
him like a shot.   
Doggett sighed.   
What the hell, love was blind.   
Still, what amazed him was that he and Reyes were   
still friends. Good friends. Granted, there were   
little moments of awkwardness here and there. He   
knew she still cared for him a little "in that   
way." He still found her very attractive. But   
usually the awkwardness were only little flare   
ups and dissipated quickly.   
  
Doggett leaned his head back in his seat. That   
was it. Lindsay. Deeandra. Barbara. And Monica.   
And guiltily he thought Oh yeah... and that one   
girl That one girl, that one stupid, stupid   
night when he was still in the service. When he   
and a bunch of his Marine buddies had been on R&R   
in Okinawa and gotten drunk as skunks. And he had   
met this girl who said she was in the Air   
National Guard and was doing her two-week tour of   
duty that the Guard required. And how they ended   
up going back to his room. And she left the   
following morning before he woke up. He had been   
so drunk, he couldn't even remember her name. And   
had been absolutely mortified.   
Now, with the wisdom accrued with age, he   
realized how damn lucky he was. That Lindsay   
didn't become pregnant because they sure as hell   
didn't do anything to prevent a baby. She just   
never conceived one. And that he didn't pick up   
some horrible disease from any of the other   
women, especially the one-night stand girl. He   
closed his eyes.   
It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fucking fair. He   
was the one that had been stupid. He had been   
incredibly stupid as a kid. He had a drunken   
fling and an unfaithful wife. He had a tattoo.   
Yet it was Parker, clean cut and straight and   
narrow Parker who contracted AIDS. It was Parker   
that had died.   
Doggett crossed his arms and bowed his head,   
remembering the remnants of that horrifying dream   
from the night before.   
The answer was in his past, his roots.   
He remembered Lindsay's words: I never believed   
that rumor that went around...   
Doggett's eyes popped open. If Lindsay believed   
that Dex and Cy caused the accident.... who else   
possibly did?   
And would that belief give someone motive enough   
to try to avenge Dex and Cy's pathetic lives? To   
get back at Parker for Dex and Cy's bad life   
choices?   
But who else would know?   
His cell phone rang.   
"John Doggett."   
"Pap-" Static. "-ohn. It's me. Wher-" Static, "-  
re you?"   
"Doc???" Doggett put one finger into his ear.   
"That you?"   
"Naw, i-" Static. "-ood fairy."   
"Where are you? The connection is terrible."   
"I'm on m-" Static. "-tico. I ne-" Static. "-alk   
to-" Static. "-portant. I think I fo-" Static.   
Then dial tone.   
"Doc? Starkweather?? Aw great," he muttered. He   
hit the speed dial and got an annoying edit from   
US Cellular how there was no service to his   
phone. "Dammit."   
Speaking of women, there's another one that just   
baffled him.   
  
She definitely was not the easiest woman in the   
world to deal with. Or the easier human being to   
deal with for that matter. Realistically   
speaking, there were so many reasons to dislike   
her. Her superiority complex. Her foul mouth. Her   
even fouler temper.   
He really thought it was too bad that she had   
such a chip on her shoulder. That she presented   
to the world this harder-than-diamonds persona.   
That she acted like she was untouchable and that   
she didn't care. Granted, she really didn't give   
a damn what people thought of her. She was not   
devious, she did not play games or engage in   
duplicity... unless the field assignment called   
for it, of course. He grinned as he remembered   
her little stint in undercover as a college   
student. She was the only one in their division   
who looked youthful enough to pull it off. Still,   
she made it crystally clear how unhappy she was   
to be placed in that position "I will get each   
and everyone of you for this..." and yet she   
did her job and did it remarkably well, despite   
the stress she was under at that time due to her   
tumultuous personal life.   
She was far from deceptive. Far from elusive and   
yet still managed to remain such a mystery. Get   
on her bad side and she will be more than happy   
to let you know. Get on her good side and you   
have a friend for life. Ask her a question and   
she will give you her honest-to-God opinion, but   
still, you walk away wondering what's really   
going on behind those feline eyes of her. She was   
such a bundle of contradictions, it was   
impossible to sum up what it felt like to be in   
the presence of her forceful personality in a   
word or two. Professional, yet a rebel. A   
daydreaming musician and a skeptical scientist.   
Did not want to be a mother, yet was tender to   
all who needed mothering. Especially her nephew   
William when Scully couldn't be there for him.   
And to her damn cat.   
She embraced the traditional role of a wife while   
driven to be the best in her position at the FBI.   
She possessed a wicked tongue and a good heart.   
Brilliantly intelligent and hopelessly naive. A   
fiercely hot temper and cold, lonely tears. She   
looked fragile but Doggett was beginning to   
believe she was unbreakable.   
Maybe... he mused as he felt himself nodding   
off. Maybe that's why she's different from all   
the others... Because despite all the shit she's   
been through... she's still *her*. She's still   
Starkweather. She's hurting and as prideful as   
she is, she's not going to admit to anyone but   
herself for a while how bad she feels. But she's   
healing. She's not letting everything get to her.   
Sure, she sad and angry and cranky and moody   
right now. Worse than usual. But Jesus, after all   
that, who wouldn't be? But she's able to release   
it and get it out of her system and still be   
Starkweather. She's doing what I couldn't...   
can't...   
... won't...   
... and I admire her for that...   
He fell asleep.   
No sooner had he fallen asleep, he felt someone   
tugging on his coat sleeve. "Sir? Sir, wake up."   
"Huh?" Doggett cracked his eyes open and looked   
up. One of the flight attendants, pretty face,   
soft, short blond hair, but a bit on the plump   
side smiled down at him.   
"You're going to miss the movie," she told him   
and walked away.   
His jaw dropped in disbelief. Movie?? On a short   
flight like this? Irritated, he snapped at her,   
"I don't want to watch the damn movie."   
Angelically, she replied "Yes you do," and   
pointed to the screen.   
Scowling, Doggett turned his attention towards   
the square screen.   
The film began to roll. It looked like an old   
home movie.   
But whoever created this movie had a sense for   
filming because the picture didn't shake or   
jiggle. The picture zoomed into a group of boys   
sitting on a porch in springtime. Azaleas,   
hydrangeas and jasmine were blooming everywhere.   
There was a big dogwood tree in the front year.   
An elderly woman was toiling her in garden,   
babying her day lilies and amaryllis while the   
boys lounged on the porch, drinking sweet tea.   
Doggett could feel the blood draining out of his   
face. He recognized that old Victorian style   
house, painted white with black trim. He   
recognized the gallant little lady with the   
battered straw hat. He recognized all four boys,   
especially the tall skinny one with the blue   
eyes. And the longish hair popular for boys to   
have in the late Seventies, covering up ears that   
stuck out.   
"Oh my God..." he whispered, sinking into his   
seat. "Turn it off," he demanded, turning towards   
the flight attendant. "Turn it off NOW." He   
didn't want the entire flight to see his life   
history.   
But that problem was solved when he realized that   
he was the only one on the plane now.   
  
This is fucking creepy he thought in dread as   
he turned his attention towards the movie again.   
I hope just I'm dreaming again... Jesus, I need   
to transfer out of the X-Files... shit's gettin'   
to me... he thought, clutching the armrests of   
his seat.   
In the film, the four boys all turned their head   
as a dumpy sixteen year old girl with long   
tangled dishwater blond hair burst out the front   
door. She was clutching an ugly purse, a school   
bag and a brown paper sack. Head down, she walked   
by the boys very quickly, avoiding their eyes.   
She was dressed in the ugly pinstriped uniform of   
a candy-striper. Her glasses were sliding down   
her pimpled nose.   
Dexter Gillroy, merciless to anyone he perceived   
as "weak" sneered at his sister, "Hey!" Dex   
called after her. She didn't turn. "Hey! Look   
everybody, it's the incredible half-girl half-  
dog. Save yourself the trouble next time, bitch,   
and wear a paper sack over yer head next time you   
come through here so's you can put us outta our   
misery."   
"Jesus, Dex," Doggett heard his sixteen year old   
self say while watching Delilah Gilroy rush past   
them. "Lay off already."   
"Why? You hot for her?" Dex asked in a low voice   
so not to attract the attention of his   
overbearing grandmother. Who was now   
interrogating Delilah.   
"And you're goin' STRAIGHT home after you get   
done with work?"   
"Yes, Grandma Lo, I already told Mama and Daddy.   
I gotta go.. I'm gonna be late..."   
"Naw," Dex's best friend Cyprus Lewis drawled,   
draining the rest of his sweet tea in one gulp.   
"He's doin' that prissy princess Lindsay Amos,   
the lucky sumbitch. Still haven't figured out how   
a piss ant like you pulled THAT off. That girl's   
a stone fox and she's with a scrawny shit like   
you?"   
Doggett watched as a younger version of his older   
brother, snort in derision and suddenly get up.   
This Stevie was tall and lean. Full head of wavy   
brown hair. Flat belly and well-defined arms.   
Next to him, sixteen year old John looked like   
the quintessential ninety-nine pound weakling.   
"Gotta go," Stevie muttered.   
"Huh? Why?" Cy asked while Dex groaned at his   
friend's stupidity.   
"Promised Pop I'd help 'round the shop." Stevie   
grumbled as he stalked off.   
"Cy, you fucking idiot," Dex snapped at him when   
Stevie was gone.   
"What?" Then the dim little light bulb clicked on   
above his head. "Shit. Sorry." Cy muttered   
darkly. "Guess he's still pissed at you for that   
whole Lindsay thing."   
"Apparently," sixteen year old John already had   
his dry sense of humor well entrenched in his   
personality.   
"Still... you and Lindsay... lucky bastard. Wish   
I could get into her pants."   
"I ain't in her pants," Doggett heard his sixteen   
year old self lie.   
"Anyway," Dex drawled, looking back over at Cy.   
"Since Johnny's busy with Lindsay, that means   
Delilah's free for ya."   
"Aw shit," Cy grumbled. "No thanks."   
"What's wrong with Delilah other'n the fact she's   
fat, ugly and got the social skills of a snail?"   
Dex chuckled at his own wit.   
Doggett watched his teenaged self squirming,   
trying to think of an escape route. He remembered   
how he never thought of these two boys as   
friends. They were just guys he hung out with.   
Because Stevie thought of them as friends. And   
before things got bad between the brothers, they   
used to do stuff together a lot.   
Well, it was more like Stevie would decide to go   
do something and John would end up tagging along   
because he had nothing better to do.   
But he was never a pest like Delilah was. Delilah   
had nothing better to do either, but she was so   
moody. One minute, she'd be completely manic, all   
giggly and coy and hyper. And annoying as hell.   
The next, cranky and bitter, consumed with a   
lassitude that was not natural to a teenager.   
When she wasn't hanging around Dexter's gang,   
trying to attract the attention of Cy, she was   
locked in her room, reading some thick boring   
book. Or working at the nursing home. No one   
really liked Delilah.   
Still, Doggett remembered how he hated to see Dex   
pick on her.   
Actually he hated to see Dex pick on anybody.   
And he was the only one who got away with telling   
Dex to quit it for the simple fact that he was   
Johnny Doggett aka JD. The Doggett brother that   
everyone liked. Not as popular as Stevie,   
granted. But popularity was fickle. Respect was   
forever. Even at that tender age, John Doggett   
knew that instinctively. No one taught him that.   
It felt like he was born with that knowledge.   
"Maybe Delilah wouldna be so bad if you weren't   
such an ass to her," JD told Dex.   
Dex shrugged. "Well, shit man, we all can't have   
sisters like you. Maybe if Delilah was as cool as   
Mel or Chris..." he shrugged again.   
"Yeah... Mel's... she's..." Cy fumbled for the   
right words. "She's alright. Mel."   
Doggett's eyes widened.   
He had forgotten. He had totally, absolutely,   
one-hundred percent forgotten all about that.   
Cy Lewis had a massive crush on Melanie.   
Doggett leaned forward to continue to watch the   
movie.   
"Yeah, like you gotta chance'n hell with Melanie   
Doggett," Dex guffawed.   
"Well, why not?" Cy pleaded while looking at JD   
for help.   
"'Cause," Dex said patiently, "if you touch   
either Mel or Chrissy, if Stevie doesn't pound   
you inta dust, JD will."   
Doggett grinned as he watched his sixteen year   
old self produce a beatific grin for Cy.   
"I'm bored," Dex suddenly announced. "Let's go do   
somethin'."   
"I should get home," young John mumbled.   
"Ah, Johnny, don't be a pissy like Stevie.   
C'mon..." Dex beckoned him as he and Cy stood up.   
"It's summer, man... I don't wanna sit around   
here at Grandma Lo's all day."   
"Okay, okay... who's drivin'?"   
"Me," Cy's eyes twinkled as he held up the keys,   
jingling them. "We can stop at my house for   
beers. My daddy won't notice."   
**Say no, say no!** Doggett silently screamed at   
his teenaged self. **Dammit, you are smarter than   
that, say no! Go home!**   
"Okay," the teenaged John replied with a bored   
sigh. "So what else we gonna do? Are we gonna go   
to the beach then?"   
"I got a better idea," Dex had an evil glint in   
his eye.   
Doggett wondered what kind of man Dexter would   
have become if he had lived beyond Lebanon.  
Doggett watched the boys leave the porch and stop   
and say goodbye to the elderly lady tending her   
flowers. "Bye, Grandma Lo," Dexter said, bending   
down to kiss her crepe like cheek.   
"Stay outta trouble," Grandma Lo frowned at them.   
But no interrogation for them like there had been   
for Delilah. They were boys. Boys couldn't get in   
"trouble" like a girl could.   
Doggett watched the boys pile into a 1971 Impala   
which now ran impeccably but was in dire need of   
the cosmetic touches. He watched the boys stop at   
Cy's house and make off with a case of beer. He   
watched in dread at three idiot boys, drinking   
and driving. Three idiot boys, cruising the   
streets of Savannah, bored out of their gourds   
and begging for trouble...   
"Know what? I outta go beat the shit outta that   
fuck Davis tonight."   
"Aw, for cripe's sake, Cy, you still can't be mad   
at Davis for what he said 'bout your car?" young   
JD protested.   
"Piece of shit, my ass," Cy muttered, crushing a   
beer can. "Fag. Wouldn't know a muscle car if it   
came and bitchslapped him 'cross the face.   
Fucking queer boy."   
"If he's as queer as y'all say he is, he prolly   
likes to get bitchslapped," Dex drawled lazily,   
reaching for another beer. "Don't worry Cy...   
'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord...'...   
shit... a sheriff for a daddy, a preacher for a   
grandpa... I can't do shit in this town without   
somebody knowin' 'bout it..."   
Doggett felt his mouth go dry as he watched his   
young face on the movie screen become ashen.   
"Dex... whattaya got planned?"   
"Why..." Dex said innocently. "We're just goin'   
to the diner. Gotta build our strength." In a bad   
Elmer Fudd voice, he said "Shhh... be wevy wevy   
qui-yet. We're huntin' faggots....   
hahahahahhaha."   
Cy crowed in triumph. "C'mon Dex! Let's go by   
that diner the cocksucker works at and teach that   
queer a lesson! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"   
Dex looked in the rearview mirror and grinned.   
"Cy, ain't that his pick-up passin' us?" he   
slurred   
He knew... Doggett realized. He knew when   
Park's schedule was. He planned this... the whole   
time... it wasn't a drunken impulse. Even if he   
was sober, he was gonna be on the road same time   
as Park   
"Boys, I think we got us a homohunt. Gotta rid   
this God-fearin' country of all the sick-o's.   
Raht J.D.?"   
"I think you guys need to walk it off..." young   
John said feebly.   
"The HELL we gonna walk it off," Dex yelled, "Dat   
Parker fucker's gonna go to BURN tonight!"   
"What is WITH you tonight, JD?" Cy demanded.   
"You're his bitch aintchya?"   
Young John Doggett glowered at him. Curled his   
lower lip threateningly and tightened his jaw.   
"Cy..." he softened his voice and yet still   
managed to sound like thunder. It did not crack   
or lapse into the childish cadences. It was a   
premonition of his future graveled baritone. "If   
you don't let me the hell out of this car right   
now, you are gonna be MY bitch in two   
seconds...GOT IT?"   
"Sure..." Cy drawled out, drunker than the other   
boys and driving. "We'll let you out... after   
this..."   
"Jesus, Cy, what the fuck you doin'!" Dex   
screamed as Cy sped up.   
Doggett closed his eyes. It was the part he   
couldn't remember... or wouldn't let himself   
remember. Until now.   
The Impala gained speed on the pick-up. The front   
end of the Impala smashed into the truck. The   
tires screeched, and the dark pavement burned   
with engine sparks, glass busted, and the pick-up   
truck in front of them careened off the guard   
rail. Doggett remembered now, he had hit his head   
hard on the seat in front of him. "Lemme out,"   
young John said thickly when Cy's car came to a   
stop. "Lemme out, NOW."   
"JD..."   
"Fuck you both, lemme out NOW."   
They let him out. They backed up and peeled away,   
tires squealing again. His head was pounding.   
Weaving, JD stumbled towards the flipped over   
pickup. "Park??? Parker? It's me. John Doggett."   
A slender body slide out of the passenger side   
window of the turned over truck. A boy,   
borderline pretty, pulled himself to his feet. He   
was covered in blood and bruises. The young man's   
small frame turned to face JD as he made his way   
down the hill towards him. "You think you can get   
Mel and get me to a hospital?" He shouted from   
the bottom of the hill. "I'm having a hard time   
keeping focus..."   
"Yeah... yeah..." the young John panted as he   
made his way down the hill. "I'll get Mel...   
howdaya know Mel?"   
"She's my sister," Parker looked at John like he   
was nuts. "Melinda? She was in Stevie's class?   
She's home from Tulane. She won't raise a fuss   
like Mama and Daddy will."   
"Sorry, misunderstood," John grunted as he went   
to support Parker during their long walk to...   
whatever was fated to bring them home. "I thought   
you were talking about MY Mel. My sister   
Melanie."   
Feeling sadder and older by the minute, Doggett   
watched the two boys hobble until they got to   
that bar where the burly bartender gave them a   
ride after shutting down the bar. He also gave   
Parker a shot of straight Jack Daniels. Parker   
almost threw up on the bar.   
Doggett watched again, the confusion in the   
emergency. Parker Davis, aging from 17 to 37 that   
night as he clutched his stomach, claiming the   
pain came from the whiskey the generous bartender   
gave him and the doctors frowning. A police   
officer, a friend of Dex Gillroy's daddy, showing   
up and asking them how the accident happened and   
how in the hell did Johnny Doggett wind up there,   
car less and friendless. Doggett listened to the   
boys mutter their lies. Out of fear of   
repercussion. Out of weariness. Out of   
immaturity.   
He listened to their conversation as they waited   
for Parker's older sister to come to sign the   
papers for treatment. "You know, John, I didn't   
know that being a pimple-faced virgin made you a   
target."   
"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those   
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight." John   
sighed. Parker gave him an imploring look in   
reply. "They're scared outta their asses that   
you're contagious."   
Doggett watched as his young self paced in the   
waiting room while waiting for not just Parker's   
older sister Melinda, but his own older sister.   
Melanie. Come get me. I got into an accident...   
only to Mel could he tell the truth. He saw Park,   
paler than before, being wheeled out in a gurney,   
from the examination room, towards a hospital   
room. Doggett watched himself tail after him.   
Listened to that arrogant intern talk down to   
them, without even granting them the courtesy of   
looking at them: "Mr. Parker, you sustained quite   
a lot of internal bleeding, we're going to hafta   
give you a transfusion, and then you'll be ready   
to go home."   
"Yay." Parker said, rolling his eyes. "Just how I   
wanted to spend my weekend! Hooked up to an IV   
with a big-ass needle at the end of it. I HATE   
hospitals...I hate needles..." his voice trailed   
off."   
"John...What the HELL is going on here!"   
"And the charming young lady is MY sister,   
Melanie."   
"What the fuck did I tell ya 'bout rahdin' around   
with Cy and all theyum idiots." Melanie only   
swore when she was extremely high-strung and   
worried. "Stevie got me up to get you back   
home...come on John..." Melanie had a natural   
talent for changing the subject in mid-sentence.   
"I--I know you from school, don't I?" She   
directed to Parker.   
"Yeah, I'm the local pimple-faced-eternal-virgin-  
turned-fag." Melanie hadn't even blinked at his   
answer. "But don't worry, I'm not as advertised."   
A movement caught young John and Special Agent   
Doggett's eye. The hospital door had opened, then   
shut again. Neither Melanie nor Parker noticed,   
they were too busy getting to know each other.   
But young John saw and promptly forgot about it   
until twenty-five years later.   
A chunky candy-striper with glasses slipping down   
her nose had poked her head into the room, then   
left just as quickly.   
Delilah.   
The answers were in his roots...   
Did she have something to do with this?   
Doggett pondered as the screen faded to black.   
Believe the lie...   
Can't be... she wasn't there, she couldn't have   
known about the accident, we told nobody...   
The truth was out there...   
Doggett felt someone tugging at his shirt sleeve.   
Bleary eyed he looked up.   
"Sir?" a flight attendant, this one tall and   
slender with mocha brown skin, neatly plaited   
hair and a generous smile. "Sir, we're landing,   
you need to get your seat back in the upright   
position and buckle up."   
"Oh," Doggett mumbled stupidly, "thanks."   
"Have a good holiday," she said sweetly as she   
continued her rounds before the airplane started   
it's landing sequence. "Enjoy your stay in   
Savannah."   
Doggett put the seat back up in it's correct   
position and snapped on his seatbelt. His neck   
and shoulders hurt. He rubbed his forehead,   
feeling another sleep-deprivation induced   
headache coming on.   
**Have a good holiday**   
God, tomorrow was Christmas Eve.   
He pictured his colleagues, his friends. Monica   
Reyes was in Texas. A big family reunion. Family   
from all over coming. California. Mexico.   
Chicago. A traditional Navidad Mexicana at her   
uncle's massive home. Piñatas. Spanish guitars. O   
noche Santa... las estrellas están brillando   
brillantemente...   
... AD Skinner. Doggett knew that he had been   
invited along with the rest of the FBI's senior   
staff to some exclusive gala party at Capitol   
Hill on Christmas Eve. He knew just because he   
overheard Skinner bitching to Kimberly about   
having to get a tux for the event. He wondered   
what the man was going to do on Christmas Day.   
There was so little anyone knew about him.   
Doggett guessed he'd probably spend the day   
quietly at him with his dog...   
... Mulder and Scully... Doggett smiled. This   
would be their son's first Christmas. Scully,   
raised Catholic, would probably take William to   
meet her mother Margaret for Midnight Mass,   
buying Mulder time to assemble the last few toys   
that needed to be put together before Christmas   
morning. When Scully got back, Mulder would take   
the boy to bed, telling him about Santa Claus and   
his magical flying reindeer. Then Scully would   
get hacked off, telling Mulder not to fill the   
boy's head with such fanciful fluff because there   
is no such thing as Santa and Mulder would retort   
that there was nothing wrong with believing in   
Santa because a child's got to believe in   
something... Doggett shook his head. He could   
just see them bickering as Scully would be trying   
to pick up the apartment for Starkweather and the   
Lone Gunmen who were coming over on Christmas   
Day. And Mulder trying to still put together an   
intricate toy for William. He could almost hear   
Mulder whining: "I'm an Oxford educated man, I   
should be smart enough to put together this   
damned thing for my kid!!"   
No man is smart enough to put together those   
damned things Doggett thought, recalling the   
hours he spent trying to put Luke's bike together   
before giving it to him. A lot of swearing went   
on during that time.   
Luke loved that bike. Luke vanished riding that   
bike.   
Doggett pushed the thought of out his head. Felt   
the plane descending, heading towards the run   
way.   
What are you doin' John? he asked himself as   
the plane's massive wheels touched the pavement   
and locked as the plane came to a halt. What   
good is it gonna do to chase this ghosts?  
Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport   
Baggage Claims   
9:55 PM Eastern Standard Time   
Doggett snagged his bag. He left with only carry-  
on, but he bought a medium sized duffel bag to   
hide the Christmas presents he bought for Melanie   
and Laura.   
As he walked out of baggage claims, he looked   
around. Trying to find Melanie.   
He saw Stevie instead.   
"Where's Mel?"   
Stevie folded up the newspaper. Looked up at his   
younger brother, disgust in his eyes. "She   
couldn't come. She was too upset."   
"Upset? Why?"   
"You damn well know why, FBI," Stevie snapped at   
him. "This damn snipe hunt of yours. It's not   
helpin' her."   
"This is not my snipe hunt, Steve," Doggett said   
calmly. "Melanie asked me to look into Park's   
death."   
"You shoulda said no."   
"Since when have you cared what happens to Mel?"   
Doggett finally yelled. Then, in a softer,   
angrier voice, he added. "Or Chris?"   
Stevie only glowered at him. Doggett didn't even   
bat an eye. "You shouldn't have come," Stevie   
muttered darkly. "You don't belong here anymore."   
"What?" Doggett said dryly. "Savannah ain't big   
enough for the both of us?"   
"You shoulda stayed in DC," Stevie took no notice   
of Doggett's jibe. "Or gone back to New York."   
"And miss all this quality time?" Doggett   
drawled.   
Doggett's cell phone rang. He looked down at the   
caller ID. "Steve, I gotta take this call."   
"You wanna a ride, be out front in five minutes.   
Else call a cab," Stevie said bitterly as he   
stalked away.   
Doggett answered the phone. "Agent Scully?"   
"Agent Doggett, I wasn't expecting you. I was   
expecting voice mail."   
Doggett grinned. "I'm experiencing deja vu."   
"John, I received the prelim autopsy reports."   
"And?" he prodded her.   
"Truth be told, I only skimmed them. I haven't   
had time to read them thoroughly. I'm sorry."   
"That's okay."   
"So I forwarded them on to Jerilyn."   
"Aw, Christ, Dana, I didn't want to bother her.   
Not with all the BS she's goin' through right   
now..."   
"She insisted on it."   
"Huh?"   
"She insisted I send her the reports. She's been   
trying to get a hold of you all night... John...   
like I said... I skimmed through the reports...   
something's not right."   
"Whataya mean?"   
"I think I was sent fakes."   
"What?"   
"I think this case file was falsified, John.   
Someone is working very hard on a campaign of   
misinformation."   
"What tipped you off that it's fake?"   
"Well, you see... platelet, white blood cell   
count and red blood cell count and protime are   
all related..."   
"What's protime?"   
"Prothrombinetime, which is the rate at which   
your blood clots."   
"Okay..." Doggett started walking towards the   
exit Stevie gone through. "And?"   
"And... Starkweather found something that made   
her question the autopsy's blood profile."   
"What??"   
In the background, a baby's cry. Then a grown   
man's cry. "Scu - lay!"   
"Dammit, I have to go," Scully sighed. "William   
has been a brat all evening."   
"Sounds like Mul-duh hasn't been much better."   
She snickered. "Call Starkweather, she's been   
trying to get in touch with you."   
"Thanks Dana."   
"Merry Christmas."  
Little later on...   
Mrs. Doggett's house   
Savannah, Georgia   
10:55 PM Eastern Standard Time   
The house was completely dark when they got home.   
No one had waited up for them. For this small   
mercy, Doggett was infinitely grateful.   
As Stevie stormed upstairs to go to bed, Doggett   
again slipped into the kitchen to pour himself a   
shot of Jack Daniels. Feeling the burning whiskey   
going down his throat, into his stomach and then   
being dispersed throughout his body, he finally   
felt his tense muscles relax. A little.   
Shedding his suit and tie in the laughably small   
upstairs bathroom, Doggett showered, toweled off   
and put on a white t-shirt and a pair of black   
cotton pajamas pants he only hauled out when   
decorum called for it. Normally, he slept in just   
his boxers. He doubted his mother or his sister   
would appreciate him running around in his   
skivvies.   
Quietly, carrying his clothes in one hand, he   
slipped out the bathroom. He peeked into   
Melanie's room. Listened to her breath. Deep.   
Regular. Drug-induced.   
Maybe Steve's right Doggett did not fight the   
wave of despair that crashed over him. Maybe I   
should have told Mellie 'no'. Maybe that would   
have helped her get on with her life... but   
God... Mel never asks for anything... how could I   
say no?   
He shut the door and went into his room. Only   
turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Flopped   
down on the twin bed with a groan. Wanted, craved   
sleep. Needed sleep.   
But he had one more thing to do.   
He reached for his cell phone. And dialed.   
"Starkweather."   
"Doc, it's me. Sorry 'bout callin' so late bu-"   
"It doesn't matter," she cut him off. Doggett   
frowned at the tone of her voice and sat up. "I   
need to talk to you."   
"What's wrong?"   
"Your brother-in-law? Parker? The one that just   
died?"   
She could be so blunt sometimes. "Yeah..."   
"Had AIDS?"   
"Yeah?"   
"You sure?"   
"What?"   
"You absolutely sure that Parker had AIDS."   
"Melanie said he did..."   
"Melanie was TOLD he was. Doggett, your sister   
has a major malpractice lawsuit on her hands. Not   
to mention there's a doctor on the loose who sure   
as hell doesn't know what he's doing. Or   
maybe..." she shuddered, walking towards the   
chair she had draped her blazer over. But she was   
not fool enough to attribute the shiver to the   
chill of the laboratory. "Or maybe this doctor   
knows EXACTLY what he's doing."   
Spinning. The room, the world was spinning. "I   
think you need to start at the beginnin',"   
Doggett said, getting out of bed to go to his old   
desk. Sitting down, he opened the top drawer and   
found paper and pencils still there. "And use   
small words."   
Doggett took notes as she spoke. "This nightmare   
begins back the beginning of June, this year.   
After re-evaluating their assets, their house,   
their cars, their stocks and bonds, 401ks and   
Roth IRAs. Their possessions, their pets, her   
jewelry, his DVD collection, they realized that   
their current life insurance policies were   
insufficient. So they decided to get seek   
individual policies that carried a bigger   
benefit. No big deal. People do that every day.   
All life insurance is, is to prevent an economic   
loss to the people that you leave behind when   
your body gives up the ghost. The survivor is not   
supposed to profit from the policy's benefit, but   
continue their standard of living. For awhile   
anyway.   
"So Parker and Melanie sought out an insurance   
agent and he sold them a policy that required   
them to give a urine sample and a blood sample   
for the company to evaluate before deciding to   
cover them. Again, really, no big deal. Ben and I   
had to do that when we decided we needed a better   
life insurance policy when I entered the Bureau.   
Plus, to be blunt, it protects the insurance   
company. I mean, generally, you know and I know   
that most people... um, let me rephrase... the   
normal people who have absolutely nothing to do   
with an X-File are relatively honest," Doggett   
snickered for a moment at her smart-assed   
comment. "Well, seriously. They are. But there's   
still some snakes out there. Like, let's pretend   
there's this guy who's smoked everyday of his   
life and have developed interesting little polyps   
on his lungs and at night hacks up gobs of lung   
butter-"   
"Yum," Doggett said dryly.   
"- but still he smokes. With me so far?"   
"Uh-huh..."   
"Well, funny, now he's having trouble breathing,   
but he's got a house, a wife and three kids. So   
he gets scared for them because if he drops dead,   
they're screwed. But he's not stupid, he knows if   
he admits to smoking, he'll probably either get   
denied or have to pay outrageous rates. Ben   
smoked a pack a day, at least. We had to shell   
out an ungodly amount for his policy alone."   
"Holy shit."   
"Not that my premium was by means small either.   
Yeah, I'm a non-smoker but I have a hazardous   
occupation. In other words, people like to try   
and kill me so insurance companies don't exactly   
leap to cover me either. Anyway, the point that   
I'm driving at though, is that the big red flags   
for insurance companies are Cancer, Cardiac   
problems and Smoking. Those are the big three   
that shorten lives and why in their right mind,   
would they want to insure someone who's gonna   
drop dead in less than a year? Yeah, it sounds   
heartless, but they have to protect themselves   
financially because it's still a business. Not a   
charity.   
"And they have to protect themselves from big fat   
liars like Mr. Smoker here who takes out a   
million dollar policy... I'm exaggerating for   
effect so go with me..."   
"Okay..."   
"Okay, a million dollars is A LOT of money. NO   
company. Not insurance, not soda pop, not   
computer, not clothing, hell not even a Mafia   
drug cartel is just going to go 'Okay' and hand   
over a million dollars. So, to have the million   
dollars, the guy's gotta consent some sort of   
screening. A pee test or blood being drawn or a   
doctor's exam.   
"So, Mr. Smoker, thinking he can beat the system,   
goes ahead and voids a urine sample. But, gee...   
nicotine can linger for weeks in bodily fluids.   
And if he has to go to a doctor for an exam and   
the doctor hears the rattling around in his tar-  
encrusted lungs, by law, he has to disclose that   
to the insurance company. Following along?"   
"I get the gist. Just hope there ain't a quiz   
later."   
"Make a big note of this. Imagine how many   
insurance companies are out there. Imagine how   
many of them ask for their clients for samples   
and exams. Imagine how many files are floating   
around."   
"Okay..."   
"When I was in Savannah today, I asked Melanie   
when Parker was diagnosed and she told me-"   
"Whoa, wait a minute, you were in Savannah?   
Today??????"   
"Oh, for a little bit," she said blithely. As if   
she had just hopped into her car and drove from   
downtown DC to Falls Church.   
"Where are you now?"   
"Quantico," she said, walking back to one of the   
lab table where she had all her faxes, printed-  
out emails, lab notes and specimens neatly spread   
out. "Analyzing the shit I got."   
"What shit?"   
"That I had the labs sent me... but hold that   
thought, I'm getting ahead of myself. See,   
Melanie told me that Parker was denied because   
his blood profile came back positive for the HIV   
virus. So they wrote the insurance company, had   
the lab results sent to their personal physician.   
Who referred them to a specialist. And here's   
when things start to get fucked up beyond all   
recognition."   
Doggett steeled himself for the worse. "Okay."   
"First of all, the lab that processed Parker's   
blood profile screwed up. Royally."   
"How so?"   
"They put the wrong results with the wrong Parker   
Davis."   
"What? How? Parker Davis is NOT that common of a   
name."   
"Neither is Jeri Starkweather, but I know for a   
fact there are at least two other people in this   
country floating around with the same name. Their   
names popped up when the FBI was doing their   
initial background check on me when I was   
applying at Quantico."   
"Melanie and I went to the hospital to get   
Parker's records. First thing I checked was the   
lab work from the labs that processed the blood   
profile. Sure enough, wrong freakin' social   
security number, wrong address, wrong phone   
number."   
"How did Melanie miss that? How did Park????"   
"Because they never saw them, Doggett. Because   
they instructed that paperwork be sent directly   
to their personal physician. And with the volume   
of patients most practicing doctors see on a   
daily basis, chances of the doctor remembering a   
patient's social is slim to none.   
"Anyway... their personal doctor, um..." Doggett   
heard the shuffling of paper. "Dr. Adam Kats,   
ordered another HIV test to be performed, just in   
case and gave them a name of an AIDS specialist.   
A Doctor Loki Kullervo. Dr. Kullervo told the lab   
to send Parker's results directly to her. And she   
told them that they were definitely positive."   
"But that was wrong."   
"Yes."   
"Then how... he was sick... he..." He exhaled   
noisily. "It don't make sense, Doc. He **died**."   
Gently, the doctor told him. "Any disease left   
untreated is fatal. I... Jesus... I... I ... um,   
God, Papa John, I really don't know how to tell   
you this part."   
"Subtlety is not one of your strengths, Doc. Just   
tell me."   
"Parker was sick, Doggett. But it could have been   
treated and cured." When the silence got to be   
too long, she asked softly. "Still there?"   
Faintly he replied. "Yeah... I'm here. What'd he   
have?"  
"Hepatitis A."   
"Hepa-what? How'n the hell did Park get that??"   
"Unfortunately, I can't determine that. I mean, I   
can make an educated guess. And I hope you   
haven't eaten or were planning on it because   
hepatitis A is generally transmitted fecal-  
orally."   
"Aw, that's just sick."   
"Oh, I'm not talking about people taking a shit   
in someone else's mouth! Usually what happens is   
that someone goes to the bathroom and then   
doesn't wash their hands after doing number two.   
That's why in most fast food restaurants you see   
all those signs reminding their employees to wash   
their hands. Because that nasty little virus can   
jump from a dirty hand to your food."   
"Thanks. I never want to eat out again."   
"You have no sense of adventure."   
"Sorry, my adventurous streak dissolved when I   
heard 'bout slobs with shit on there hands   
preparin' my Big Mac."   
"ANYWAY, that's one guess I have. My other guess   
would actually be more plausible."   
"And that is?"   
"Seafood. Specifically shellfish. From polluted   
waters. See... if Melanie and Parker would have   
eaten at a place where, as you so elegantly put   
it 'slobs with shit on their hands' making the   
food, Melanie would have gotten sick too.   
However, Melanie is allergic to shellfish. So if   
she and Parker went out to dinner and Parker   
ordered mussels or oyster or whatever... Parker   
would get sick because he ate the tainted   
shellfish and Melanie did not. And the bitch of   
this is hepatitis A can linger in your system for   
over six months with no symptoms present. But   
once the symptoms show, they make you sick in a   
hurry. Fever. Fatigue. Loss of appetite. Nausea.   
Abdominal pain. Dark urine. Jaundice. Hepatitis A   
is not as serious as her ugly stepsisters B and   
C, but needs to be taken seriously because the   
virus still attacks your liver, making it swell.   
A swollen liver is an unhappy liver. And you need   
a happy liver because a happy liver takes care of   
all sorts of things. Like it removes toxins from   
your blood. It helps stop bleeding. It stores   
energy. And write this one down, Doggett...   
... a healthy liver fights infection."   
"It aids the immune system?"   
"Ding ding ding."   
"So..." Doggett murmured, tapping the tip of the   
pencil against his pad of paper. "If he wasn't   
able to fight off infection, no one would think   
of the wiser because everyone thought he had   
AIDS."   
"Exactly."   
"But he didn't die of liver problems. He died of   
pneumonia related to AIDS complications."   
"No. He died of pneumonia due to malpractice."   
"How?"   
"Dr. Loki Kullervo had to go out of town for   
conferences last week. So while she was gone, she   
referred her to Dr. Juliette Joel, another   
specialist at the hospital Parker was at. While   
speaking to her, I learned that Dr. Joel was   
under the impression that Parker was allergic to   
any and all antibiotics. I went back to Melanie   
and asked her about it. She swore up and down   
that Parker was not allergic to antibiotics. She   
said the few times Parker would get sick with a   
sinus infection or something, their doctor would   
prescribe an antibiotic. So I called Dr. Kats   
back. And he concurred that according to his   
records, Parker had no allergies to antibiotics.   
Doggett," she sounded strangled. "He could have   
been saved. An antibiotic would have knocked not   
only the pneumonia, but also the hepatitis A out   
of his system. Whoever falsified his records knew   
that they were going to kill him if he got any   
type of a upper respiratory infection."   
Thickly, he muttered "Do you have any other   
physical proof... somethin' that would stand up   
in court?"   
"Yes," she said swiftly. "A blood sample."   
"How did you get a blood sample?"   
"One of my last stops before going back to DC was   
at the morgue where the autopsy was being   
performed."   
A bell went off in Doggett's ear but it wasn't   
because some damn angel was getting his wings.   
"Doc... you didn't take Melanie with you to the   
morgue, did you?"   
"She insisted," Starkweather retorted. "I told   
her I could find the damn place by myself but she   
said she was coming along whether I liked it or   
not. Stubbornness definitely runs in your family,   
bud."   
"Yeah, well... I think it was too much for her. I   
was told she took some sleeping aid and is out   
like a light."   
"She took a sleeping aid because this doctor   
wrote her a prescription for Librium to help her   
get some rest. This doctor also recommended to   
her that if she did not take the medication   
tonight and get some sleep, the same doctor was   
gonna jump on the first plane to Savannah and   
personally put a boot up her ass because she's   
going to make herself sick with worry and grief   
if she doesn't."   
"I'm sure Mel took that well."   
"She told me she understood why I was a federal   
agent. Something about having no social skills   
and that my bedside manner was beyond appalling."   
"What'd you say?"   
"Asked her if she would prefer some sugarcoated   
FDA-approved bullshit about how she needs to rest   
instead of the truth."   
"And what did she say?"   
"Um..." Starkweather lost some of her fire. Then   
it rekindled. "Did you by chance tell her about   
Ben?"   
"Uh, yeah..."   
"Ah. That explains it... she asked me how much   
Librium **I** was taking... then she said 'pot   
meet kettle' when I didn't answer," she meekly   
admitted. Anxiously, she hurried to ask, "But   
she's asleep? She took the tranquilizer?"   
"Yeah, she's out cold."   
"Good." A sigh of relief.   
Doggett cleared his throat. "So this blood   
sample?"   
"Turns out, the county coroner turned Parker's   
autopsy over to one of his underlings. Which   
worked to our advantage."   
"How?"   
"Oh, a peon isn't going to object to quickly if   
an FBI agent asked for a blood sample. Especially   
if the same FBI agent is a medical doctor. And   
especially if the deceased's spouse authorizes   
it." Starkweather reached up and examined the   
vial of blood. "He had just finished the Y-  
incision when I walked in. I sweet-talked him-"   
"Uh-huh."   
"I can be perfectly charming when necessary, you   
asshole. And actually, I did the kid a favor   
because he was doing his internship, poor thing,   
at the hospital morgue. He asked me if I could   
spot him while he drew the blood from the   
pericardial sac, he had only done it a couple of   
times and that under supervision. And, before you   
freak out and envision your brother-in-law being   
mutilated by some deranged Dr. Frankenstein Jr...   
the kid did a nice job. He's a rookie, but he   
knows what he's doing. He just needs more   
practice. But that made me start thinking... WHY   
this **kid** was by himself autopsying a man that   
supposedly died of AIDS? That was another tip off   
to me that all was not right with this scenario.   
You don't pawn off an AIDS case to a novice. Even   
if the patient is deceased.   
"So after getting my blood samples, Mel and I   
made a trip up to the coroner's office and we   
couldn't talk to him for nothing. The man had a   
receptionist from hell. She looked like a bulldog   
and told me pointblank that if I didn't have an   
appointment, he could not be disturbed. When I   
explained the nature of the case, the bitch said   
"I know about the Davis case. Dr. Tiffleton is   
already faxing the case file to an FBI agent in   
Washington. Although why such a damn fuss is   
being made about this is beyond me..." I think   
that's when Melanie started to buckle under the   
strain... and where she figured out that I have   
no social skills."   
Doggett cringed. "What did you say?"   
"Before or after calling her a fucking dumb bitch   
from the lowest bowel of hell?"   
"Never mind, I don't wanna know."   
"Well, then after our little... um... heart-to-  
heart, I guess, I brought Melanie to the nearest   
pharmacy so she could get the trancs I prescribed   
for her, drove back to the airport and grabbed   
the first flight to DC that I could, then drove   
to Quantico so I could analyze in peace. Before I   
left, I had asked Scully to forward the case file   
to me. I read that first before analyzing the   
other stuff. Then I checked out the blood. Not   
only was it HIV free, but it was B positive."   
"So?"   
"According to the case file, Parker is B   
negative."   
"A typo?"   
"I thought so at first too. Then I started to   
read the case history from when he was first   
diagnosed as HIV positive from the lab when he   
got tested for insurance to the last bit of lab   
work done in his final days. All of it says B   
negative."   
"I'm confused."   
"The other Parker Davis... the one who REALLY is   
infected with HIV is B negative. This Parker,   
your brother-in-law, is B positive. Basically,   
this Tiffleton-dickhead went along with this   
cover-up campaign. That Parker was misdiagnosed,   
mistreated and died due to gross malpractice. And   
I am MORE than happy to go on the stand and   
testify to that."   
"Testify against who??" Doggett asked. "WHO   
fucking did this??"   
"I... I don't know... I can't... I can make   
guesses, but... I'm sorry," she finished lamely.   
Mollified, he said "S'ok, you dug up lot more   
than what I would have." He put the pencil down   
to rub his tired face, then picked up the pencil   
again, saying "Alright, gimme your guesses."   
"Well," Starkweather put down the vial and walked   
over to the desk where she had put her purse and   
briefcase. Next to the feminine luggage was a mug   
of coffee. It had been boiling hot when Doggett   
first called. Starkweather sipped it. Lukewarm.   
She made a face but drank it anyway. She craved   
the caffeine. "The lab that processed the urine   
and blood for the insurance policy is out. I feel   
that was an honest mistake. There are too many   
samples, too many files and not enough people. I   
believe the root of the problem--"   
**The answer is in your roots**   
Doggett squeezed his eyes to block out the voice   
of dreams and concentrated on the voice of the   
doctor.   
"--stems from the hospital. I believe someone   
fucked up, fucked up royally and decided instead   
of heeding to the Hippocratic Oath, to Pledge   
Alliance to Saving Thine Ass." After another   
silence, Starkweather said "You don't agree with   
me."   
"It makes sense, Doc. It really does. And it's   
probably what happened... just a stupid, stupid   
mistake and now the doctors are trying to hide   
that they screwed up."   
"But you don't believe that, do you?" She was   
prodding him now and he resented it. When he   
sullenly refused to answer, she said "I can't   
help you if you don't tell me what's going on in   
between those big ears of yours."   
"I think... this was deliberate."   
"Well, yeah, the cover up was deliberate. I mean,   
if it got out that the doctor screwed up this bad   
AND the coroner went along with it, the lawsuit   
Melanie could launch, my God. It could be a   
multimillion dollar lawsuit. It could very well   
shut down the hospital."   
"No. I think..."   
No, I don't, it's impossible...   
**The answer is in your roots**   
Bullshit. It happened the way Doc said it   
did...   
**The answer is in your roots**   
My mind doesn't work that way...   
"... I think this information fell into someone's   
hands... someone that was out to get Parker and   
orchestrated this whole charade to kill him," he   
said dully.   
"Mulder?" Starkweather said. "Is that you? Where   
did Doggett go?"   
"That was low," he grumbled.   
"Do you realize how paranoid you sounded just   
now?"   
"Yeah."   
"I mean, the Lone Gunmen would welcome you as one   
of their own if they had just heard you a second   
ago."   
"But is that possible?"   
"The Lone Gunmen welcoming you? Well... three's   
company, four's a crowd..."   
"No, you brat! My theory."   
"Oh. Well. Um. Well... yeah, I guess. But this   
would have to be someone with access to the   
hospital and records and... Jesus. This person   
would have to have a pretty big ax to grind. And   
dying from pneumonia's no little thing! You   
suffocate. You can't breathe. It's a horrible   
nasty painful way to die. I'm sorry, I'm being   
blunt. But who could possibly have motive enough   
to be THAT vindictive to watch someone DIE like   
that, KNOWING that that he could be cured? That   
person would have to be a real sick puppy." After   
another silence, she asked. "What makes you think   
someone was out to get your brother-in-law?"   
"I just do," he said mulishly.   
"Bullshit," she snapped. "You never **just**   
think anything. Look," she said, exasperated now,   
putting down the coffee cup to take off her   
reading glasses to rub her eyes. "I know you're   
not... I understand that... crap. Okay, look, you   
don't like to talk about yourself and your   
personal life very much and that's fine. Okay?   
There's shit I don't tell you because quite   
frankly, it's none of your business. But if   
there's reason, if something happened that makes   
you think this is a homicide case and not   
negligence... you've got to tell me. Because I   
can't help you if I don't know what's going on.   
And you can't help Melanie figure out exactly   
what happened to her husband."   
Doggett rested his forehead on his palm,   
unconsciously imitating Rodin's "Thinker." His   
head pounded. He closed his eyes.   
"When I was sixteen years old, I used hang out   
with these two guys from the football team. Dex   
Gillroy and Cy Lewis. They were more Stevie's   
friends than mine, but I'd go do stuff with 'em   
sometimes. I didn't have like, I don't know, a   
best friend or anything. I got 'long with most   
everyone at my high school and if someone asked   
me to go do somethin' with 'im, I'd go. I didn't   
give a shit...   
But Dex was a dick. A bully and Cy was his   
clichéd stupid sidekick. They were also the   
reason why the South still looks bad. They hated   
anyone and anything that wasn't white, Anglo-  
Saxon and Protestant."   
"Which, you know, makes a WHOLE lot of sense   
since Savannah is predominately Catholic."   
"Thank you Queen of Useless Information."   
"Sorry, I'll shut up now."   
"Cy would get in trouble from time to time, but   
not Dex. Dex's grandpa was a popular hellfire and   
brimstone preacher in town. The kind that would   
have their own TV shows today. And his daddy was   
the chief of police, although we all called 'im   
'the sheriff'. And Dex was a football hero so   
shit couldn't stick on him. He... he did shit and   
because his family had not just religion and the   
law, but money, most of the time, the adults   
would just look the other way.   
"Dex and Cy's favorite target was Parker. Back in   
high school people though Park was 'funny' 'cause   
he didn't go out and do the stuff 'real boys' do.   
He didn't get stinking drunk. He didn't play   
sports. He was tall and skinny and had a high   
pitched voice. Some damn rumor started that he   
was gay and Dex an' Cy took that and ran with it.   
They used to corner him and beat the tar outta   
'im. 'Course, didn't help that he had a mouth on   
'im that wouldn't quit but that's not the point.   
It wasn't even that they thought he was gay was   
the reason why they'd pick on 'im. It was because   
they could.   
"Cy got this Impala and he thought he was just   
King Shit. Cy was goin' on and on, boring me and   
some others stupid 'bout this car and Park comes   
'long and... Jesus, I can hardly remember... it   
was so long ago, Doc. 'Bout twenty-five years...   
anyway, Cy started yelling shit to Park and Park   
fired off this insult 'bout Cy's car and Cy went   
ballistic because he had spent hours restoring   
this car. I remember I had to hold 'im back and   
yell at Park to get the hell outta there 'cause   
Cy was gonna kill 'im.   
"A few weeks later, I was hanging out with my   
brother and Dex and Cy at Dex's grandmother's   
house. Stevie had to leave earlier, so it was   
just me and Dex and Cy and Cy suggests we go for   
a ride..."  
"So we went to Cy's house and stole beer from his   
father and then we just went ridin' 'round. Me,   
bein' the dumb ass, didn't realize 'til too late   
that Cy and Dex had plans to go to the little   
diner where Park worked and wait for him so they   
could... well... I don't know what...   
**Dat Parker's gonna BURN**   
"... exactly they had in mind for 'im, but they   
were drunk. And I liked Park. Always did. Didn't   
have nothin' 'gainst him. Always thought he was a   
good guy... I just didn't..."   
Starkweather felt her eyes well up when she heard   
her friend's voice crack over the phone. She   
swallowed the lump in her throat, closed her eyes   
and waited for him to compose himself.   
"... get why they had it in for 'im. I told Cy I   
didn't wanna be part of this. That I wanted to   
get outta the car. Park had just passed us in his   
pickup truck, late for work. Cy gained speed...   
and rammed Park's truck. The truck went outta   
control, flipped over the guardrail and rolled   
into the ditch."   
"Oh my God..." Starkweather breathed. "Oh my God,   
what a fucking bastard... what did the cops say?"   
Doggett paused. "We never told the police. We   
never told anybody."   
"What?"   
"The only people who knew what really happened is   
Park and Mel. Me. Cy and Dex. And you."   
"Why didn't you tell anyone before?????"   
"'Cause at the time, we were just two scared   
kids. Scared we were gonna get in trouble with   
our folks. Park just totaled his father's truck.   
I was only sixteen and I'd been drinkin' that   
night. And we were scared what Dex and Cy would   
do if we ratted on 'im. Me, I knew I could hold   
my own, but I was scared they would really go   
after Park the next time. Or Mel or Chris. They   
didn't discriminate. They attacked anyone that   
they thought were weaker."   
"Did they? Ever try to threaten you two or your   
sisters....?"   
"There were a few skirmishes 'tween me and Dex,   
but then, he up and joined the military and Cy   
kinda just drifted away... but... Doc, I can't   
explain okay? I finally know why Mulder feels so   
Got-damned paranoid all the time... but my gut is   
tellin' me that those two rednecked   
motherfu...sorry."   
"Oh no, my virgin ears," she droned. "You know   
you don't have to sanitize your language around   
me."   
"I've been 'round my mother too long," he said   
with a small grin. "Anyway... Stawk-weddah, I   
know it doesn't make sense. But my gut instinct   
is tellin' me that Dex and Cy had something to do   
with Parker's death."   
"Is this the same gut instinct that has saved our   
collective X-File asses on several occasions?"   
"Yeah..."   
"Then go with your gut, Papa John. It hasn't led   
us wrong yet."   
"As crazy as it sounds?"   
"Welcome to Mulder-Leap 101."   
"I don't like leaps," he grumbled.   
"No kidding," she said dryly. "So, where are   
these two princes amongst men now? Would they   
have access to Parker?"   
"That's the problem Doc. That's why I think I'm   
crazy for thinkin' the way I am. Cy's in prison.   
Killed someone in a drunken brawl, doin' time for   
manslaughter. And Dex is dead."   
"Dead? Aw gee," she deadpanned. "That's too bad."   
"Yeah, because that narrows my list of suspects   
down to zilch."   
"But you still believe that those two had   
something, directly or indirectly had to do with   
Parker's death?"   
Doggett had to force himself to say "Yeah."   
"Hm," he heard her say over the phone. "Well,   
shit, Doggett I don't know what to tel-" her   
sentence was abruptly punctuated by a startled   
scream. Her scream. Doggett also heard the sound   
of something shattering on the floor.   
He bolted out of his chair. "Doc? Doc?   
Starkweather... are you there?"   
Starkweather, standing in a puddle of coffee and   
ceramic shards, had her hands over her mouth,   
staring at a cute little tow-headed blond boy   
with big sparkly aquamarine eyes. He seemed to   
glow, as if he was constructed from starlight   
instead of flesh and bone.   
She recognized the child from a framed photograph   
on a desk. She thought she would only see this   
child in photographs.   
"Oh Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered, shaking   
head to toe.   
"Jerilyn???"   
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Opened them.   
Nothing there except a broken coffee mug and   
splattered java all over the linoleum floor.   
Meanwhile, Doggett was about climbing the walls   
in worry. "Jerilyn?? Are you there??"   
"Sorry," he finally heard her mutter. "Thought I   
saw something..." she rubbed her eyes. "You're   
not the only one who's losing it." He heard her   
take a deep cleansing breath. Then another. Then   
muttered to herself, "Girl, get it together." She   
looked at the floor, at the mess. And groaned. "I   
saw something out of the corner of my eye and   
though it was... I don't know. My eyes played a   
nasty trick on me. I'm fine. Just... fucking   
tired."   
"Jerilyn, please go home. You've done enough. I   
didn't wanna bother you with this in the first   
place."   
She grinned to herself as she knelt down to pick   
up the remains of the mug. "Then why did you call   
asking about AIDS information in the first place?   
Come on Doggett, you know I'm at my best when   
I've got a challenge ahead of me." Soberly she   
added. "Not like the challenge in front of you   
though."   
Sitting back down, Doggett ran his big fingers   
through his still damp hair. "Don't I know it,"   
he muttered.   
He then heard a *clunk* from the other end and a   
distant "Damn." Not even three seconds later, her   
voice was near his ear again instead of far away.   
"Sorry, I dropped the phone. I was trying to mop   
up a mess I made," she groused.   
"What'd ya do?"   
He heard her groan. "Knocked my mug over. Dumped   
coffee everywhere. So I'm mopping it up. I feel   
like I'm back in med school, doing all the shit   
work," she bitched. "But if I know Bill Wilder,"   
referring to one of the forensics instructors at   
Quantico, "and he finds one speck of dirt in his   
pretty, pretty lab, he'll go ballistic."   
Doggett froze. "Say that again."   
"Knocked my mug over???"   
"No. The part 'bout doin' shit work at the   
hospital."   
"Okay. I feel like I'm back in med school, doing   
all the shit work."   
"There IS someone who knew about the accident."   
"Who???"   
"Delilah, Dex's little sister," he said grimly.   
"I saw her. She looked in the room when Mel came   
to take me home. She worked as a candy striper at   
the hospital I took Park to."   
"Okay... so... she might know... what's her   
motive?"   
He sighed. Another dead end. No pun intended.   
"No clue. Dex was mean to her too."   
"How did Dex die?"   
"He was in Lebanon. I didn't even know he was   
there until I found he was dead. He was in the   
Army."   
"Are you sure he wasn't killed by 'friendly   
fire'? On purpose?"   
"Pretty sure," he responded on auto-pilot but he   
was miles away...   
... back in Atlanta, drinking in Lindsay's   
beautiful face, feeling intoxicated by her huge   
blue eyes and her cultured lilting voice,   
reminiscing about a time where a pimple or being   
dateless for the prom were life-shattering   
tragedies.   
I still remember those boys strutting 'round   
school, thinking they were God's gift 'cause they   
were football players. Cy and Dex and your   
brother Stevie. Carl Betton. Austin Taylor. And   
Dex's little sister Delilah was always taggin'   
'long... of course, we all thought she had a   
thing for Cy. Child never was quite right in the   
head. And then... There was you.   
Child was never right in the head.   
"Hey Doc?"   
"Yeah?"   
"Can I talk to you later 'bout this? I'm beat.   
And," he added sternly, "you need to go home too,   
Agent Starkweather."   
"Actually, I'm going to go to Annapolis and just   
get a hotel room. I'm too tired to drive back to   
DC. Can I say one little thing before you go   
though?"   
"Sure."   
"When you start questioning the medical staff at   
the hospital, don't waste your time dealing with   
the peons. Go straight to the top. Ask for that   
specialist, Dr. Loki Kullervo."   
"Okay," Doggett said, jotting down the name.   
"Drive careful, Doc."   
"Good night." Starkweather switched off her cell   
phone and leaned against the table, staring into   
the empty space where the spirit had lingered for   
a moment before. She didn't want to admit that   
the vision frightened her. Any more than she   
wanted to admit how much her heart hurt her right   
now as she fumbled around hopelessly, trying to   
figure out the best way to grieve for her losses.   
Alone in the lab, she put her hands to her face   
and began to sob quietly but convulsively. The   
clock ticked loudly, time slowly moving towards a   
new day, a new beginning. The end of Advent.   
Christmas Eve.   
Meanwhile, her partner shut off the light in his   
childhood bedroom and crawled into the twin bed   
that was almost too small for him. Physical   
fatigue made his eyelids droop almost   
immediately. A mental breakthrough made them fly   
back open.   
"Oh my God..." he breathed aloud. He sat up and   
reached for the cell phone. But decided against   
calling her. He didn't want trouble her anymore   
than he already had.   
And he ended up laying awake all night.   
December 24, 2002, Christmas Eve   
Mrs. Doggett's house   
Savannah, Georgia   
8:30 AM Eastern Standard Time   
A morning person even when she was a small girl   
wearing knee socks and pigtails, Melanie woke up,   
blinking her eyes in confusion. Not completely   
understanding why her room was flooded with   
sunlight. Normally she was awake before the dawn.   
Then, groggily, she remembered the two little   
tablets she had choked down with a big glass of   
water. And then, oblivion. I must have needed   
the sleep badly she thought as she rose out of   
bed, still feeling the foggy after-effects of the   
drug-induced sleep.   
She reached for her robe and wrapped it around   
her body. Knotting the terry cloth belt with a   
jerk, she stepped out into the hallway. She could   
hear her brother in his old bedroom, talking to   
someone on the phone. Must have his cell   
phone she thought, poising her hand to knock on   
the door.   
But she froze when she heard what he was saying.   
"No I'm still here... that's alright, ma'am,   
wasn't the first time I've been left on hold. My   
name is Fox Mulder...uh-huh, Fox... just like the   
animal... M- U- L- D- E- R. Anyway... I'm callin'   
because I'm doin' some research... see... it's   
kinda personal and would prefer to speak to Dr.   
Kullervo in private... I understand... I know   
it's Christmas Eve and I'm sorry to be a bother   
ma'am but I'm only gonna be in Savannah for today   
and tomorrow and I'd rather speak to her today   
than tomorrow... no, it won't take long. Oh, I'd   
appreciate it so much... that's fine, I can get   
there by then. Thank you so much. Uh-huh....   
yeah... okay, thanks. Bye."   
The door swung open. Melanie backed up just in   
time.   
Except for the traitorous blue sacs beneath his   
eyes, no one could have known that he had not   
slept a wink last night. And those smudges   
actually increased the solemn authoritive   
expression on his face. As did the jet black suit   
with the perfect creases, the crisp white dress   
shirt, the shiny black shoes and the FBI-approved   
boring tie.   
Melanie realized she was not looking at her   
little brother Johnny.   
This was Special Agent John Doggett. And he was   
on a mission.   
"Does this have to do with Parker?" Melanie asked   
breathlessly.   
"I'll talk to you 'bout it later," Doggett   
promised her brusquely. "I have to go now." He   
quickly squeezed her shoulder affectionately as   
he brushed past her.   
"Who's Fox Mulder?" she called after him.   
He turned his head, a devilish little grin   
lightening his somber face. "A friend," he said   
angelically as he went downstairs.  
Later on that morning   
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital   
5353 Reynolds Street   
Savannah Georgia   
Outside of Dr. Kullervo's office   
9:45 AM Eastern Standard Time   
Doggett knocked on the door as he let himself.   
The receptionist, a plump middle-aged woman with   
a big, moon shaped face looked up at him. "May I   
help you sir?" she drawled in a sing-song voice.   
Her matronly goodness looked out of place seated   
behind the expensive Art Deco desk. Matching   
objects d'art were tastefully arranged in the   
small reception area outside of the doctor's   
office. Doggett strongly suspected that the   
furniture and the artwork he looked upon was   
worth more than his house, his truck and his life   
combined.   
"Yes'm," he said, smiling at her. "We spoke on   
the phone earlier this morning. My name is Fox   
Mulder. I'm here for Dr. Kullervo."   
"Oh yes!" she twittered, consulting the massive   
leather bound appointment book. "You're lucky I   
was able to squeeze you in," she winked at him   
while standing up. "Dr. Kullervo said to go ahead   
and let you wait in her office, if you were   
early."   
"Thank you," he mustered all the charm he could   
as he allowed the nice receptionist to lead him   
into the doctor's inner sanctuary.   
The office was more impressive than Kersh's   
office at the Bureau. The furniture was all   
upholstered in creamy white leather to match the   
walls and the soft thick carpeting. The doctor's   
desk was an exact duplicate of the one out in the   
waiting room, only bigger. Expensive but small   
pieces of modern art, elegantly framed in cedar   
and gilt trim. All the pricey Tiffany lamps   
matched the artwork perfectly. A as if the artist   
had consulted the coloring of each piece of   
stained glass before dipping his brush into the   
paints. Fresh flowers filled the vases. Doggett   
felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop.   
"Make yourself at home," the cheerful secretary   
chirped as she shut the door behind herself.   
Doggett roamed around the office, examining the   
artwork. "Hm," he murmured, staring intently at a   
blank space of wall next to one of the paintings.   
Observed that the paint didn't appear to be as   
faded as the rest of the wall.   
Putting his hands in his pockets, he meandered   
around to the beautiful desk, his sharp blue eyes   
taking careful inventory.   
His eyes flicked over to the long glass shelf   
behind the desk. Photographs, framed in silver,   
overpowered the table. "Hm," he said, bending   
over slightly to look at each one carefully.   
Most of them were photographs of what appeared to   
be friends and colleagues. Candid shots of   
Christmas parties and lavish charity balls.   
Several pictures of what he assumed was the same   
cat. Photographs documenting one feline's   
progress from cute fluffy little kitten to fat,   
haughty Persian.   
Doggett noticed a photograph that was almost, but   
not quite, hidden behind two other pictures, one   
being of cat and the other a group of women with   
big wild poufy hairdos mugging the camera while   
on vacation somewhere on a beach, sometime in the   
late Eighties when bad hair was okay.   
But Doggett didn't care about the fricking cat or   
the bevy of drunken women. He cared deeply about   
the small framed picture behind those   
photographs.   
"Gotcha," he breathed, a bitter smile on his   
lips.   
He burst out of the office minutes after that.   
"I'm sorry," he apologized effusively.   
"Something's come up, an emergency. A family   
emergency, I have to go. Tell Dr. Kullervo I'm   
sorry."   
Without waiting for a reply, Doggett was out the   
door.   
  
Later on that morning...   
Dr. and Mrs. Tiffleton's residence   
Some fancy suburb of Savannah...   
11:22 AM Eastern Standard Time   
"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD  
!!!"   
Dr. Niles Tiffleton winced and rubbed his   
temples. He hated it when the kids weren't in   
school. "What?" he snapped, extremely irritated.   
All he wanted to do one his day off was lay on   
the couch, drink his coffee and watch "The Price   
Is Right." Was that REALLY so much to ask for???   
He didn't think so.   
"THERE'S SOMEBODY HERE FOR YA! SAYS HE WANTS TO   
TALK TO YA!"   
He almost wished he would have gone into work   
today.   
Dead people are quiet people.   
Dr. Tiffleton put his cup down on the ugly coffee   
table that his wife picked out. With a sigh he   
got off the sofa. And walked into the hallway   
where he almost ran into his daughter, talking a   
mile a minute on her cell phone. "Stephanie?"   
"Omigod, Babs, like hold on a second, my dad   
wants me," she put the phone down. "Like, yeah?   
What?"   
"Go see who's at the door."   
"Why? Don't we have a maid or some junk to do   
that?"   
"It's her day off," Dr. Tiffleton said between   
gritted teeth. "Go see who's at the door. Now.   
And tell him to go away."   
"Like, okay, okay. Gawd," she rolled her heavily   
made up eyes as she walked towards the front   
door. "Yeah, like Dad's losing it, okay? He's   
making ME answer the door..." her voice drifted   
away.   
Too soon, she came back. Her face, or what skin   
on her face that was visible underneath all the   
makeup, was ashen. "It's a FBI agent," she said   
without any sass or attitude. "He wants to talk   
to you."   
FBI? What the hell? Although this agent had to be   
some sort of character to be able to scare his   
mouthy little spoiled bitch daughter to death.   
He liked this guy already.   
He ambled towards the door. His son, a tub of a   
child, was still staring at the tall man in the   
perfectly pressed suit, sporting a pair of Ray-  
Ban wannabe sunglasses. "Dr. Tiffleton?" the   
stranger drawled politely.   
For one weird moment, Dr. Tiffleton thought he   
was in that one movie "Terminator 2, Judgment   
Day", facing down the evil shape shifting cyborg.   
However, when the stranger took off his   
sunglasses and reached inside his jacket to pull   
out his FBI identification, he knew his was in a   
worse predicament.   
T-1000 actually looked a lot friendlier than this   
guy.   
"Sir," the agent said coolly, "My name is Special   
Agent John Doggett. Could I have a word with   
you?" His icy eyes flicked down to the chubby,   
insolent boy. "Alone?"   
"Derick, go play your Sega upstairs, okay?"   
"Daaaa-ad, it's NOT Sega, it's a PlayStatio-"   
"Whatever. Go."   
Derick waddled off.   
"Yes, Agent Doggett," the doctor said calmly.   
"How can I help you?"   
"You can help me," Doggett smiled, a thin, cruel   
little smile. "By explainin' to me why you helped   
Dr. Kullervo get away with murder..." Doggett   
took a step closer and whispered "I would   
recommend leniency..."   
Tiffleton pressed his lips tightly together. "I   
see," he said haughtily. "Dr. Kullervo? A   
respected member of our community and a leader in   
the AIDS research field, a murderer?" He scoffed,   
"Nonsense, Special Agent. You must have made a   
mistake. Now, if you'll excuse me, it IS   
Christmas Eve and I get to spend precious little   
time with my family..."   
But Doggett didn't back off, although he did take   
a step back. "Nice house," he told the doctor as   
he looked up at the Tudor style brick home. "Nice   
cars too," he nodded his head, acknowledging cars   
he had parked the rental Ford Taurus behind. A   
cherry red 2001 Honda Civic and a 1999 silvery   
Mercedes-Benz.   
"I always had a thing 'bout cars," Doggett said   
fondly, appreciating the vehicles that he   
couldn't afford in this lifetime or the next. "My   
father owned an auto repair shop. I loved   
spendin' Saturdays there as a kid... watchin' him   
fix up cars, then him teachin' me how to fix up   
cars... the flashier the better. But my father   
always told me to buy American. And I have a   
Dodge Ram..."   
Tiffleton began to lose some of his fear and   
regain his irritation. He was missing "The Price   
is Right" dammit.   
"... but I dunno... somethin' 'bout a foreign   
car... they last longer, they don't seem to break   
down as much..." here Doggett produced a grin,   
"and they go faster, don't they? Betcha you got   
quite a few speedin' tickets with that Civic,   
huh?"   
"The Civic's my daughter's car," he said, a   
little defensive. "The Mercedes belongs to my   
wife."   
"So, what d'ya have?"   
"A Porsche."   
"No kiddin'? Man..." Doggett sounded envious.   
"I'm in the wrong field. I'd love to have a   
Porsche... probably could afford the car, but the   
insurance... I dunno... I'd have to find a way to   
get some extra money comin' in..."   
Then out of nowhere, Doggett innocently asked,   
"Isn't Oglethorpe Speedway Park near here?" As   
the blood drained out of the coroner's face,   
Doggett asked him, "So is that how you started   
backin' NASCAR races? To pay for these fancy   
cars? Or 'cause you live so close to the race   
track?" Doggett took another step closer.   
"Doesn't matter how it started Tiffleton 'cause   
what matters it that you're in the hole. Big   
time." When Tiffleton started to complain about   
invasion of privacy, Doggett informed him sweetly   
"Income is public domain. You can't hide your   
finances from the IRS... well... guess you   
could... but they really don't like it when you   
do."   
He took another step closer to the doctor. "Truth   
is, Dr. Tiffleton, this nice house, those nice   
cars, your bratty kids' nice education could be   
gone in a second 'cause you're $75,000 in the   
hole. And that's just your gamblin' problem. The   
total comes up to well over a hundred thousand   
when you figure in all the money you lost when   
the stock markets went to shit after September   
11."   
He went for the jugular now, "Or you were. Until   
your good friend Dr. Kullervo lent you just   
enough to get the creditors off you back and   
maintain your façade of wealth. And she didn't   
want you to pay her off in cash. Oh no...   
"... she wanted a favor. A BIG favor. Like   
falsifyin' an autopsy case file. Your intern was   
so kind as to forward that file to my partner,   
who just happens to be a medical doctor."   
"I'll go to prison," the coroner squeaked.   
"Probably," Doggett agreed. "But there's a   
difference between a few months in a country club   
prison for white collar crime and 25 years to   
life in a federal pen. Would you like to call   
your lawyer and discuss this with him?" Doggett   
asked sweetly.   
"I do need to speak to my lawyer," Tiffleton   
whispered. "But I will cooperate..." he hung his   
head. "You're talking about the Parker Davis   
case, aren't you?"   
"Yeah," Doggett glared at the top of the little   
man's head. "I am. Let's get your lawyer, as you   
are entitled to have, then take a trip down to   
the police station."   
Later on that day...   
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital   
5353 Reynolds Street   
Savannah Georgia   
Outside of Dr. Kullervo's office   
1:30 PM Eastern Standard Time   
Dr. Loki Kullervo liked to walk. She always   
purposefully parked her car two, sometimes three   
blocks away from her destination so she could   
have a nice stroll before entering.   
Also, it kept the pesky pounds from creeping up   
on her.   
The day was going well. When she came to the   
hospital early in the morning, she discovered   
with pleasure that one of the pediatric AIDS   
patients was responding favorably to the latest   
treatment available. She then had a guest lecture   
at an AIDS awareness fund-raiser at the local   
library, which went extremely well. She had an   
unexpected appointment and an unexpected   
cancellation. Much as that irritated her, she had   
learned that in her profession, those kinds of   
things were to be expected. She had her   
receptionist file the name away in case he ever   
reappeared. Fox Mulder... I know I've heard   
that name SOMEWHERE... She dismissed the   
cancellee, focusing her energies on the work that   
needed to be done for the rest of the afternoon.   
She was planning on spending most of the day in   
the lab.   
Dr. Kullervo, known for her precision and her   
diligence, ruthlessly monitored every aspect of   
her life. From her spotless apartment, to her   
svelte figure, to her impeccable makeup,   
hairstyling and wardrobe, to her care of her   
patients and her research into the AIDS research,   
everything was at her command.   
As she crossed the street, picking an imaginary   
piece of fluff off of her deep brown suit jacket,   
she recalled the conversation she had with one of   
the senior doctors during their lunch meeting   
today. He had commended her on her continuing   
dedication in fighting the disease. Since he had   
known her for a few years now, he asked her, why,   
a person like herself, so consumed with order,   
would want to engage in such a messy, order less   
disease such as AIDS.   
"Because," she had said thoughtfully. "I want to   
control it. It is a monster that is bent on   
destruction. And I wish to kill the monster. And   
if I can't kill it, at least tame it and bend it   
to my will."   
And the other doctors had nodded. It made sense.   
That mentality had sustained Dr. Kullervo most of   
her adult life.   
Which was why she felt a surge of irritation when   
her receptionist met her halfway down the hallway   
before she even got to her office.   
"Dr. Kullervo," she blubbered, "I'm sorry, I   
couldn't stop them. They have a search   
warrant..."   
"A search warrant!" Dr. Kullervo exploded. "For   
what????" She handed her purse and briefcase to   
the hapless secretary and stormed into her   
domain. There was a flurry of action in the   
reception area and men in police uniforms and   
windbreakers that said 'FBI' in bright yellow   
letters going in and out of her office. Pulling   
drawers out and tipping them over, spilling paper   
all over. Taking her precious books off the wall,   
thumbing through them and then dropping them on   
the floor. "I demand to know what in the hell is   
going on here," she cried out in a fury.   
"Step out into the hall, doctor," a graveled   
voice said unpleasantly. "And I'll explain it to   
you."   
Startled, she looked for the source of the voice.   
Scared because it sounded familiar.   
She realized the voice's source came from a man   
leaning against the wall. She stared at him in   
confusion. He was the only one there in a suit   
and tie. His arms were crossed. He was staring at   
her like he knew her. She felt flutterings of   
fear, she didn't know this man... didn't know any   
tall men with light brown, almost blond hair.   
With ears that stuck out just slightly. With cold   
blue eyes surrounded by crow's feet. Cold blue   
eyes chilling her...   
... and then she recognized him. "JD..." she   
hissed.   
"Special Agent Doggett to you," he said, pushing   
himself off the wall and stalking towards her.   
Grabbing her by the arm, he said "Let's go   
Delilah," and escorted her out of the room.   
Alone in the hallway, Dr. Kullervo struggled to   
yank her arm out of Doggett's grip. "Get your   
hands off me."   
"Gladly," and Doggett let her go as if she some   
repulsive creature.   
She tossed her mahogany hair over her shoulder   
and assessed him as if he was an insignificant   
specium on a glass slide. "On top of harassment   
and invasion of privacy, I should also sue you   
for police brutality."   
"I'm a federal agent, not a cop," he reminded   
her. "Besides, once we're done with you, your   
word isn't going to mean shit."   
"What are you implying?"   
"I ain't implyin'. I'm flat out saying that you,   
in pre-meditated, cold-blood, killed one of you   
patients. Parker Davis."   
"Of course... Melanie... I should have known..."   
she hissed. "JD, hate to tell you, but your   
sister is delusional with grief. I tried   
recommending her to a grief-counselor but she was   
too proud. She rather run to her baby brother to   
assume the role of the great white knight once   
more," she sneered at him.   
"Do you think," Doggett asked her sweetly, "that   
maybe Melanie would have taken your advise if you   
had disclosed to her that not only you're Dex's   
baby sister, but that you've also been in and out   
of mental hospitals for most of your adult life?"   
"You white-trash motherfucker," she lashed out at   
him.   
Doggett was unimpressed. "Such language from a   
lady."   
She ignored his sally. "I don't know what you're   
trying to prove but rest assured my lawyers are   
going to have a field day nailing your ass to the   
wall."   
"Before you do, let me tell you a little story,   
if you don't mind," Doggett requested politely.   
"Most of it you already know, so if you could   
fill in the blanks, I'd 'preciate it."   
"I don't have time for this," Dr. Kullervo tried   
to walk away, but Doggett grabbed her again.   
"You'll make time for this, Delilah," he growled   
at her.  
Dr. Kullervo folded her lips tightly and crossed   
her arms as Doggett began to talk.   
"Besides your weight, your glasses and everything   
else, 'nother thing Dex liked to harass you 'bout   
was your first name. Because your mother, to   
placate her battle-ax of a mother-in-law, named   
you "Loki" after her. But that didn't work with   
Grandma Lo, did it? Fact is, she still didn't   
like your mother and she really didn't like you   
much either. Not that it's much of a loss, your   
Grandma Lo wasn't that nice of a person. How   
could she be? With a verbally abusive hypocrite   
of a husband? Preachin' 'bout Thou Shalt Love Thy   
Brother... as long as he was white and wealthy   
and took the writings of the Apostle Paul   
literally. Especially the parts 'bout women bein'   
submissive to their husbands. Since Grandma Lo   
couldn't fight against her husband, she attacked   
weaker targets to vent her rage. Maybe that's   
where Dex learned how to be a bully...   
"... but sorry... I'm ramblin'," Doggett   
apologized as Dr. Kullervo folded her lips   
tightly together and clenched her fists as   
Doggett went on. "Although, I could never figure   
out where'n the hell 'Loki' came from anyway. It   
sure as hell ain't a Southern name..."   
"It's the name of a Norse god," Dr. Kullervo said   
tensely. "Grandma Lo's ancestors had Viking blood   
in them."   
"That's nice," Doggett said blandly. "Anyway, I   
remember Dex teasing you something fierce about   
your name when we were kids...   
"But you were dyin' to get away from it all.   
That's why you went to college up North 'stead of   
'round here. That's why you started tellin'   
people your name was Loki Gillroy 'stead of   
Delilah Gillroy. You wanted to get away from that   
fat bullied girl in Savannah as fast as you   
could. You had never had any say in your life   
'til then. Your mama and daddy pushed you around.   
The Preacher and Grandma Lo bossed you around.   
Dex bullied you to tears. You wanted to have   
total say over your life. That's why, 'gainst the   
family's wishes, you did your pre-Med and medical   
school in New York. That's why you married a   
Yankee named Tobin Kullervo. That's why you've   
been treated several times for bulimia." He eyed   
her slender body. She frowned back at him. "It   
was all 'bout control..."   
"... course, it doesn't help when you have a   
chemical imbalance that's beyond your control,   
does it?"   
"Hypocrite," she spat at him. "You joined the   
Marines when you were sixteen to get away from   
your father. Instead of going back to Georgia,   
you moved up to New York after bein' discharged.   
You married a Yankee too."   
"Been keepin' tabs on me Delilah?" Doggett asked   
lightly. She shut up.   
She wished he wouldn't stare at her as he spoke.   
His pale blue eyes unnerved her. She didn't like   
feeling so out of control.   
"Yeah... maybe I ran away from home too... but I   
didn't deliberately plot someone's death..."   
"You'll have to prove that," she said smugly,   
regaining control. Or so she thought. "All I see   
is a bunch of men in my office. Running around   
like trained monkeys. I'm sure they're really   
pleased you're interrupting their Christmas Eve."   
Doggett ignored her. "Last summer, you received a   
call from one of your colleagues. A Dr. Adam   
Kats. Hey Loki, he says, can ya see this guy?   
He's one of my regular patients, but he just   
tested positive for HIV but he's not sure how he   
could have gotten it. He says he's straight and   
is faithful to his wife. Wife says she's faithful   
to him. Plus she tested negative. He don't do   
drugs. Don't work in a medical facility where he   
could be in contact with tainted blood. The only   
possibility is a transfusion he received back in   
Seventy-Six, after a car accident. But that was   
over twenty-five years ago and the virus usually   
rears its ugly head after ten, fifteen years of   
hibernation.   
"You're interested. Of course you're interested.   
You've always liked studyin' and researchin'.   
That's another thing Dex made fun of you about.   
Bein' such a bookworm.   
"So he gives you the name of the patient. Parker   
Davis. That name rang a bell. 'Course it did.   
Parker was one of Dex and Cy's favorite targets.   
But was it the same Parker Davis? You realized it   
was when you saw the name of the spouse, Melanie   
Doggett Davis.   
"Still intrigued, you called for the lab work   
from the second HIV test to be sent directly to   
you. You also called the lab that processed the   
first blood test for the insurance company. And   
compared notes. The second blood draw was   
negative for HIV, but positive for hepatitis A.   
Upon further research, you figured out the first   
lab screwed up and sent the wrong results to the   
insurance company. Yeah, Parker Davis is HIV   
positive, but not THIS Parker Davis. I think   
these things are called 'twists of fate'?   
"Maybe you were lookin' at your reflection in the   
mirror while you were contemplatin' this,   
Delilah. Maybe you were lookin' at your now   
pimple-free skin after puttin' your contact   
lenses in. Maybe you were at the beauty parlor,   
gettin' your hair dyed that pretty dark color   
'stead of sportin' your natural dishwater blond   
hair. Maybe you were even at the mall, buying   
that pretty suit you've got on. I dunno what you   
were doing when you got the idea. After getting   
sick of watching you bounce in and out of the   
nuthouse plus binging and purging, your less than   
sympathetic husband divorced you. Prompting you   
to move back home. But you didn't take back your   
maiden name. Hell no. You don't even talk to   
what's left of your family.   
"Point I'm makin' is that you took a big chance   
that Park and Mel wouldn't recognize you when   
they came in for their consultation. If they did,   
well, so much for that... but if they didn't...   
if they didn't...   
"And they didn't, did they? Hell, I didn't even   
recognize you at first either. Did you get some   
plastic surgery done too? Your nose? Your tummy?   
Chest?"   
"You pig," she seethed.   
Doggett leaned against the wall, crossing his   
arms again, appraising her coolly. "Even though   
you don't look a thing like you did in high   
school, you took a few other preparations to   
ensure that the Davises wouldn't recall you. You   
took your diploma off the wall."   
"I never hung my diploma on the wall."   
"Then why is there a part of your wall discolored   
in the exact shape of a framed diploma? A framed   
diploma was found in your bottom drawer? A framed   
diploma that says 'Loki Delilah Gillroy'?" When   
she failed to retort, he went on. "And you put   
that photograph of you and Dex and Cy hanging out   
at Tybee Island behind some other pictures on   
that fancy table behind your desk. Couldn't bear   
to put that away, it meant too much to you. But   
your clients wouldn't be able to see it from   
where they would be sitting.   
"You could have been a hero the day that Parker   
and Melanie came to see you. You could have told   
them that it was all a big mix-up and Parker was   
fine. You would have been their angel.   
"But you liked your idea better... let'm suffer,   
right? Suffer. Hell. Let him die. Let the   
hepatitis A take over. Let his liver get swollen.   
Let his immune system really get impaired. Let   
him be denied treatment for an upper respiratory   
infection he couldn't fight off. Let Melanie cry   
for him over Christmas..."   
He looked at her in disgust. "You bitch," he said   
softly.   
Now the doctor smiled. An ugly smile on a face   
shaped into beauty by cosmetics and cosmetic   
alterations. "A frightening story indeed, good   
agent. But a story is all it will remain until   
you provide some incriminating evidence." She   
tilted her head, still smiling. "Is that the   
blank you wanted me to fill in? Give you the   
smoking gun? That would be a lovely Christmas   
present for you, wouldn't it?   
"It would pull you out of that basement office,   
wouldn't it?" Laughing at him now, she nodded.   
"Oh yes, Special Agent John Doggett, I've been   
keeping tabs on you. Not rigorously. But I pay   
attention whenever your name crops up.   
"And my, my, who DID you piss off at the Bureau   
to get demoted... literally?" The ugliness of her   
smile increased. "Hate to tell you JD, but in   
this world, it's true. Nice guys finish last.   
You'll never get to be where you want to be by   
being nice. And that's all you're doing here.   
You're just trying to be nice to Melanie. Cushion   
the blow that somehow, someway, her beloved   
Parker contracted AIDS." She spread her hands out   
wide. "I did what I could."   
"By tellin' everyone that he was allergic to   
antibiotics when he really wasn't?" Doggett asked   
her dryly. "By changin' records to show that   
Parker had B positive blood instead of B   
negative?"   
"Again," she said, shaking her head at him. As if   
she was a kindergarten teacher catching one of   
her students telling a whopper of a story to   
impress his little friends. "You have no proof to   
back up those allegations. You haven't told me   
anything that scares me yet."   
"How 'bout a blood profile?"   
"Where would you get a blood sample to study??"   
"How 'bout from Parker Davis's heart? During the   
autopsy my sister ordered? Yeah," he said smugly   
as he watched the color disappear from Dr.   
Kullervo's cheeks. "That's right. The intern that   
was unknowingly doin' Tiffleton's dirty work for   
'im that day most graciously gave my FBI partner   
a sample which she took back to Quantico to study   
herself. And she's far from... how'd you put   
it... a trained monkey?"   
When Kullervo opened her mouth to protest his   
partner's credentials, Doggett added, "And when I   
say 'Doctor' Starkweather, I mean Doctor   
Starkweather **MD** not, **Ph.D.** And oh yeah,   
speakin' of Tiffleton? He's with his lawyer and   
the DA, trying to cut a deal so he don't have to   
spend a minute longer in jail than he has to.   
Although his medical license is good as gone."   
Now he was the one with the ugly smile. He took a   
step closer to her.   
"Scared yet?"   
"He's lying!" Dr. Kullervo said, a tinge of   
desperation coloring her normally clinically-  
cool-and-calm voice. "He... he's a gambler! He's   
lost a lot of money at the race tracks! And in   
the stock market! He... he tried... he making up   
this wild tale because I wouldn't give him any   
more money. I lent him a great deal of money so   
he could squeak by until Christmas. Didn't want   
to ruin things for his kids."   
"Maybe Tiffleton is lying," Doggett nodded his   
head. "But does a blood sample lie?" Tired of the   
games, Doggett said "Look, I don't care how you   
did it. We know you did it. It's only a matter of   
time before the cops and the feds find something   
here. And the guys here don't find something,   
maybe the guys tossin' your house will.   
"What I wanna know is WHY, Delilah? What...   
possessed you to... to be so Got-damned   
heartless? To watch a man die... fucking   
suffocate on his own bodily fluids, knowing you   
could save him but didn't? What the hell Parker   
Davis did to you that made you hate him, that   
much, that you could be as vindictive...   
"Or maybe," he dropped his voice to a whisper,   
taking another step towards her as she took more   
steps away. Her back was against the wall. She   
really did look scared now. "Maybe it was never   
Parker you hated... Maybe it was Melanie."   
"Melanie?" she laughed, a nervous hiccup of a   
laugh.   
"Sure. Makes sense. Makes perfect sense. 'Cause I   
remember another thing your sonuvabitch brother   
used to tease you 'bout was your crush on Cy. Oh,   
you had puppy love for him BAD, Delilah. Real   
bad. And Dex wasn't the only one who teased you.   
The entire school knew. I remember one time   
someone wrote a Valentine for you and signed it   
"Love Cy" and put it on your locker. And how Cy   
laughed in your face when you went to thank him.   
"But see, it also wasn't a secret that Cy had the   
hots for my sister. He used to beg me and Stevie   
to set him up with her. Neither Stevie nor I   
would. Neither one of would mostly 'cause we   
liked breathin' too much. Melanie would have   
killed us if we would have tried to fix her up   
with that dumbass.   
"But maybe, you didn't know that. You didn't know   
that Melanie that Cy was an ignorant rednecked   
fool. You didn't know that Melanie didn't like   
him 'cause Melanie was nice to everybody. Even to   
the people she hated with a passion. Maybe you   
blamed Melanie for Cy not wanting you because he   
wanted Melanie...   
"'Course now, he'd probably take you over   
Melanie, seein' how fine you grew up. Seein' that   
he's in jail for murder right now may make the   
whole dating thing difficult but once we bust   
your ass for killin' Parker, maybe we can get you   
an adjoining cel-"   
"I didn't do it because of Melanie!" she burst   
out.  
"Oh really," Doggett said innocently. "Then why?"   
"I want my lawyer," she whispered, looking at the   
floor.   
He shrugged. "Go ahead," he said, reaching into   
his suit's pocket and drawing out his cell phone,   
holding it out for her. "Call your lawyer."   
She didn't take the phone though. "Are you wired,   
Special Agent Doggett?" she asked in a breathy   
voice. When he did not answer, she chuckled.   
"No... 'course not. That would be entrapment,   
wouldn't it? And I'm not under arrest yet, am I?   
And it's just you and me here... no witnesses?"   
She laughed.   
But her laugh sounded wrong. Seemed out of tune   
to Doggett. After years of investigations and   
interrogations, Doggett had an ear for madness   
like a piano tuner for pitch. Careful John   
careful he told himself as he rearranged his   
face to be poker-straight. She's startin' to   
get unglued... His eyes darted around quickly   
to make sure there were no sharp or blunt objects   
around that could do him grievous harm. He didn't   
like the fact she had taken a ballpoint pen out   
of her pocket and was clicking it over and over   
rapidly. She laughed again, shaking her head.   
"I heard about your son," she said with another   
diabolical cackle. "Seven years old and dead. And   
not even just 'dead'. Kidnapped and murdered. His   
little life snuffed out as he cried for his   
daddy, wondering why he didn't come save him..."   
Doggett fought hard to control the murderous rage   
brewing inside his heart and seeping through his   
bloodstream.   
"... He was just a little boy. A baby." She   
fluttered her eyelashes at Doggett. "You didn't   
even get to know him. See him grow up...   
"But... what I wonder... if what if that had   
never happened. If your son hadn't died. And grew   
up. Grew up with a limp wrist and talking with a   
lisp. Liking make-up and dresses instead of   
football? Would you still love your son with the   
reverence you hold for him right now? Special   
Agent John Doggett? Would you? I'm asking you a   
question, JD. If you son was-"   
"Yes," he interrupted her softly. "I would   
continue to love him. I wouldn't like it. But   
that wouldn't stop him from being my son."   
"Or so you say," she said archly. "Easy to be   
pious when the subject matter is dead, isn't it?"   
she spat at him. She went on as Doggett clenched   
his fists. "And speaking of dead, do you know how   
many fucking fags continue spread AIDS on a   
yearly basis??"   
"AIDS has been continued to be spread by straight   
men and women as well," he said quietly,   
beginning to see which way the wind was blowing.   
"Through unprotected sex, through shared needles   
and through mother-to-child in utero. But you're   
the expert, you should know this," he said,   
trying to remain calm and not act like the   
vigilante he wanted to be.   
He would love to just bypass the whole habeas   
corpus thing and choke her right here and now.   
"You have no idea," she seethed. "No idea how   
insidious this disease is. You think the way you   
lost your kid was painful? You have no idea what   
pain is until you take care of a peds AIDS case.   
Trying to explain to a little girl why you can't   
take the pain away. Why she's not going to get   
better and go home.   
"And then, the bastards spreading this shit,   
march in parades, flaunting rainbows and dressing   
in drag, demanding to have 'rights' and to be   
treated like everyone else. While we're left   
behind to take care of the kids dying of the   
disease THEY started."   
She believes that Doggett thought in   
disbelief. She's a medically trained doctor   
and... shit, I'm not a doctor and even **I** know   
better'n that...   
**Child never was right in the head**   
"I hate this Got-damned disease, JD, you have no   
idea. You have no idea how many kids I get to see   
on a yearly basis die. Too many. Too damn many.   
You... poor you, you lost one kid. Big fucking   
deal. Every child that dies in that ward feels   
like one of my own. So far, this year, I've lost   
fifteen children. And each one cuts like a   
fucking razor because they didn't have to die.   
And with every kid that dies, I swear to myself   
that I will stop this damned disease or at least   
control it, in any way possible."   
She looked up at Doggett, smiling her ugly little   
smile again.   
The whir of the air conditioning kicking on   
filled the hallway but that's not why Doggett   
suddenly felt cold.   
Parker wasn't the only one. Parker wasn't the   
only patient this crazy bitch killed...   
Who was it who had said just recently "Don't piss   
off doctors, we know 10,000 different ways to   
kill someone and 20,000 ways to get away with   
it,"?   
With an inward sigh, he remembered who.   
Starkweather, of course.   
"Bet seein' Parker brought up some bad memories,"   
Doggett drawled, hoping to squeeze more specific   
information from her. "Like deja vu maybe? Like   
when you saw 'em in the hospital... hearin' 'bout   
me and Mellie talkin' 'bout the accident?"   
She snorted. "The one time in my life that I   
thought I could do something right. The one time   
I thought I could do good. Do right by someone. I   
didn't do it 'cause I like Park or y'all. I did   
it to get back at Dex, finally..."   
"I got off from work and went straight home. Told   
Daddy everything. Daddy was fit to be tied. He   
was even more pissed when one of his underlings   
came to him with a report about a car accident   
Park Davis was in and that Jay Doggett's youngest   
son had been there too, but he can't figure out   
how or why that boy'd be there. He told my daddy   
that he thought you and Park were lying about the   
accident. How it really happened...   
"Well, it was an election year and Daddy couldn't   
risk any scandal. He could lose his job if the   
wrong guy gets elected wherever and he didn't   
want to piss anyone off. Or give the impression   
that his family was trash. So the next morning he   
woke Dex up and read him the riot act. Told him   
he had two choices. To either get out of his   
house and try and make it on his own. Or join the   
Army. Kind of an 'out of sight, out of mind.' Dex   
picked the Army." She abruptly stopped.   
"And then he was killed?" Doggett prodded her   
along.   
Her eyes narrowed. "I always wondered how you   
survived, but no Dex. Why Dex? Why not you? When   
we got word that Dex had died, Mama looked at me   
and told me if I would have kept my mouth shut   
about Dex and Cy causing that car accident, Dex   
wouldn't have died. She asked me why'n the hell   
was I protecting Parker Davis in the first   
place?"   
"But you weren't protecting Parker, you were   
protecting yourself. Only now, you blamed   
yourself," Doggett said.   
"I didn't blame myself one bit," she said a bit   
too quickly. "Dex can burn in hell for all I   
care. He was a mean son of a bitch. Know why he   
was so mean?" Her eyes twinkled madly. "Know what   
secret he carried to his grave? Why he lashed out   
at Park so much?"   
Doggett's mouth dropped open. "No fricking   
way..."   
**"You know, John, I didn't know that being a   
pimple-faced virgin made you a target."**   
**"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those   
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight. They're   
scared outta their asses that you're   
contagious."**   
Dr. Kullervo still had that hideous smile on her   
face. "That's right, JD. Dex didn't like girls."  
"Think 'bout it JD," she taunted him. "He sure   
talked big 'bout women, teased y'all about your   
girlfriends. But did you ever EVER see him with a   
girl?" She answered for him. "No, of course not.   
He was confused about his sexual orientation. And   
to be homosexual would be a sin in our house.   
Sin? Ha. With my father and grandfather, it would   
be more like suicide. And Daddy and the Preacher   
always hinted that they thought Dex wasn't quite   
the man they thought he was. So when Daddy made   
his ultimatum, Dex thought it was his last chance   
to prove to him and himself that he didn't 'swing   
that way' if you know what I mean," she winked at   
him and giggled maliciously.   
"I just can't believe that Delilah," Doggett   
said, shaking his head. "I think you're full of   
it."   
"Why? Because Dex was big and strong? And liked   
football and cars? Trust me," she said   
laconically. "Queers come in all shapes and   
sizes. They aren't all like Parker Davis," she   
snorted.   
"Parker married my sister, Delilah. He loved   
her."   
"Then why, after almost twenty-five years of   
marriage, were there no children?" she challenged   
him. "After all, the rumor in high school was   
that Parker dated Melanie to hide what he really   
was..."   
"You are basing Parker's sexual orientation on...   
on..." he spluttered, not believing his own ears.   
"There were no children, because Melanie can't   
have 'em."   
She rose her eyebrows high. "You believe that?"   
she said softly.   
Before Doggett could argue, a voice heralded him.   
"Agent Doggett? Agent Doggett!"   
"Over here," Doggett called over his shoulder.   
"Found somethin' interestin'," a young police   
officer named Hunter Ceehaycee handed Doggett a   
dusty manila folder. It did not escape either the   
cop or the agent that Dr. Kullervo turned a shade   
whiter and her hand fluttered up to her throat.   
"What is it?" Doggett looked at the file the   
gloved cop held up for him. "Well... well...   
well... hm. 'Inheritance Labs'... that's the lab   
that processed the blood and urine for Parker and   
Melanie's insurance applications... Hmm... Parker   
Davis... social security number 371017132, date   
of birth, October 13, 1959... blood work, B   
positive..." he skimmed the blood profile. Even   
to an unschooled eye, it was fairly easy to   
interpret. "Says this guy is HIV positive...   
huh... but my brother-in-law's birthday is   
January 21, 1960." Officer Ceehaycee took the   
file back and flipped a page. Held it up for   
Doggett to read again. "And what do we have   
here... hm. Another blood profile. Completed by   
this hospital. And the birth date for this Parker   
Davis is, well, look at that... January 21, 1960.   
And the blood type says B negative. HIV negative.   
Imagine that."   
"That was planted," she said weakly. "I didn't   
kill anyone."   
"Uh-huh," Doggett said, completely fed up with   
her now. "Arrest her. Give me details later," he   
said wearily to Officer Ceehaycee. "I need to go   
home."   
With bittersweet satisfaction, he turned away and   
heard the click of handcuffs and the young cop   
droning out the doctor's rights.   
It was over.   
Almost.   
Much much much much much much later...   
Mrs. Doggett's house   
Savannah, Georgia...   
"Chris," Mrs. Doggett finally said, looking up at   
the clock. "Let's not hold up supper anymore.   
It's getting late. Could you set the table   
please?" With a heavy sigh, she began to slice up   
the vegetables for the salad.   
"I gotta go call Laura first," Chris rose from   
the kitchen table just as Doggett opened the   
kitchen door.   
"Where've you been, son?" Mrs. Doggett asked him   
coolly, as if he was a teenager again, breaking   
curfew.   
"Where's Melanie, Mama?" Doggett asked, exhausted   
now. Instead of going home like he wanted, he had   
been held up at the police station. Giving his   
statement. Showing the Savannah PD and the   
Georgian agents how he pieced it together that   
Parker Davis did not die of AIDS complications   
but due to a complicated, premeditated plan to   
kill him. He ached all over from stress, fatigue   
and out-and-out burnout. He didn't even want to   
eat, he just wanted to collapse.   
But he had to talk to Melanie first. Had to.   
Before Mrs. Doggett could reply, Stevie invaded   
the kitchen. He had heard the tail end of the   
conversation. "Where were you today? We coulda   
used your help around here," Stevie accused him.   
"I had work to do," Doggett said, trying to rein   
in the temper that had threatened to run rampant   
all day.   
"Work," he snorted. "Work my... yeah. Work,   
whatever. Well, 'bout time you graced us with   
your presence," Stevie thundered. "What ghost..   
'scuse me, WORK have you been chasin' this time?"   
"Stevie-" Chris said timidly, but Doggett   
overlapped her.   
"Where's Mel, Steve?"   
"Damn it John, haven't you done enough? Just   
leave her alone! Stop tryin' to make it easier   
for her, that's not gonna help her-"   
"She's in the living room, John," Mrs. Doggett   
said quietly.   
"Aw Mama, not you too!" Stevie groaned as Doggett   
started to move towards the living room. Stevie   
grabbed Doggett's coat sleeve. "I swear to God,   
John, if you keep feedin' into Mel's delusions so   
help me, little brother, I'm gonna-"   
"Stevie, let go," Doggett shook him off and   
continued to walk towards the living room.   
Stevie reached out and grabbed Doggett by the   
collar. As if they were boys again, scuffling.   
But they were not boys and Stevie had forgotten   
which one was the stronger and taller one.   
Doggett fought his way out of Stevie's choke hold   
easily enough and pushed him away. "Steve, fuck   
off," Doggett bellowed as he stormed away,   
through the door, towards his sister.   
Stevie balled his hand into a fist and set off to   
go after him again, but to his surprise, and his   
mother, it was his shy baby sister who stopped   
him.   
"Stevie," Chris said in a trembling voice. "He   
just cussed in front of Mama. Leave him alone."   
Stevie opened his mouth but his mother   
interjected before he could speak. "Stevie, if   
you and your brother cannot get along, at least   
do me a favor and pretend to during what's left   
of my lifetime."   
Stevie opened and shut his mouth like a fish.   
Turned on his heel and left the house, slamming   
the door.   
Meanwhile, Doggett had found his sister on the   
sofa, pretending to read a magazine. "Mel?" he   
said softly. "Melanie, it's me..."   
She looked up at him. Her eyes welled up. He   
looked so tired. And sad. And yet... and yet...   
triumphant? No. Not the right word. Victorious?   
No. Not right either.   
Heroic. That was it.   
He walked over to her. Knelt in front of her.   
Took the magazine she was flipping through and   
clutched her hands. He could barely get the words   
out.   
"It's over Mellie. You were right. Park was   
murdered."   
She stared at him, not comprehending at first.   
Then a convulsive sob rippled through her entire   
body and she leaned over, clinging to him as her   
little brother held her tight.   
"We got her Mel," he whispered to her. "We got   
the bitch who killed him and she's in jail now,   
Mellie. It's over, sweetheart, it's all over   
now..."   
Melanie just buried her head into John's shoulder   
and cried hard. From the doorway, Mrs. Doggett   
and Chris watched silently as tears poured down   
Chris' face. Mrs. Doggett eventually lowered her   
head and left the room.   
  
December 25, 2001, Christmas Day   
Deputy Mayor Fox Mulder's apartment   
Arlington, Virginia   
7:25 AM Eastern Standard Time   
Starkweather pounded on Door Number 42 again.   
When that elicited no response, she muttered,   
"Dammit, we're going to be late," and pounded on   
the door again. "Mulder if you stayed over at   
Scully's and didn't tell me, I'm gonna fuckin-"   
The door opened wide.   
He had a bit of stubble and his hair was still   
damp to from his shower, but to Starkweather's   
relief, he was more or less correctly dressed, in   
a dark green V-necked sweater with a gray t-shirt   
underneath, dark blue jeans and brown hiking   
boots.   
Hell, the fact he was awake made her heart sing.   
"Joy to the world," Mulder droned. "All the boys   
and girls..."   
"Die."   
"Gee, wonder who got a lump of coal for Christmas   
this year?" Mulder moved aside so she could come   
inside. "I've got a couple of things I need to   
take care of before we can go," he told her,   
ushering her inside his unkempt apartment. He   
went to feed his fish as Starkweather peeled off   
her black leather gloves and unzipped her heavy   
winter coat, showing off the startling feminine   
sweater she wore. Angora. Turtle necked. Pearly   
pink. Mulder deduced that her stepmother, a   
wealthy Senator, must have given it to her. "Make   
yourself at home." he told her as he walked over   
to the coffee table.   
"I need a vat of Pine Sol and a stun gun to knock   
out the dust bunnies before I can do that,"   
Starkweather said with a shudder of disgust at   
Mulder's filthy ways. She took off her ridiculous   
stocking cap. Smoothing her hair, she watched   
Mulder take the few brightly wrapped packages   
from underneath the sad little one foot tall   
Christmas tree on his coffee table and put them   
in a laundry basket. With a wicked little grin on   
her heart-shaped face, she mercilessly imitated   
her brother's monotone. "Which one's mine?"   
"None," he responded, looking up with a grin.   
"But I got your cat something."   
"You bought Caesar something?" she said   
skeptically. "What?"   
"Cat nip seasoned with rat poisoning," Mulder   
said, lifting the laundry basket. "Hope he likes   
it."   
"I'm sure he'll like it as much as William will   
like the talking Barney the Dinosaur doll I   
bought him," Starkweather retorted sweetly,   
opening the door for him.   
"You did not."   
"Joy to the world, the Lord is come, let earth   
receive her King," Starkweather said in her   
beautiful lilting voice as she held the door open   
for her brother.   
  
Starkweather kindly held open all the doors as   
Mulder maneuvered through the halls, into the   
elevator and out the front door of his apartment   
building towards Starkweather's car.   
Once the gifts were safely settled in the trunk   
and the passengers traveling down the slippery   
roads, Mulder a moment of manners. "Thanks for   
comin' to get me," he said to the driver.   
"Well, it's not like you live all that far from   
me."   
"And just think, in a few days, you'll be living   
even closer to me."   
Starkweather was moving out of the DC apartment   
she had shared a few short months with her   
husband to a small studio in a restored Victorian   
house in Arlington four blocks away from Mulder.   
"Good. I'll wake you up at oh-five-hundred hours   
to go for a run."   
"I'll break your legs if you do." He pulled out a   
bag of David's Sunflower Seeds from his coat   
pocket and opened it.   
"Oh come on tubby," she leaned over and poked him   
in his belly. "Like it would kill you to run."   
He slapped her hand away. "Maybe I'm not so fast   
anymore," Mulder grumbled, sensitive about the   
"office gut" he was developing due to too much   
politics and not enough X-Files. "But I can still   
kick your ass."   
"Probably, but you would have to catch me first.   
And I can still outrun you, pork chop."   
"Bitch," Mulder grumbled as he leaned over to   
fiddle with the radio.   
"What are you doing?"   
"Trying to find a station so I can turn it up   
really really loud and drown it out."   
"Radio's broken. You can only get AM stations."   
"Your point?" Mulder asked as he turned up the   
volume.   
"...says other lay-offs could be possible," the   
dull radioesed baritone droned out of   
Starkweather's radio speakers. "In Savannah,   
Georgia today... more evidence reveals that the   
new 'Doctor Death' may have killed others in her   
care... Prominent AIDS researcher... Dr. Loki   
Kullervo has been charged in the deaths of three   
more of her patients. Based on evidence   
discovered by Savannah police this morning...   
allegedly Dr. Kullervo purposely denied certain   
patients critical medical treatments due to their   
sexual orientation, says Officer Hunter Ceehaycee   
of the Savannah Police Department..."   
Mercifully, the announcer's boring voice went   
away as the sound bite of the arresting officer   
came on.   
"Apparently she has a deep prejudice against the   
homosexual community and was using her knowledge   
of HIV and AIDS to kill them instead of help   
them. But she was clever. If it hadn't been for   
Agent Doggett, we would have never caught o-"   
"WHAT??" Mulder nearly choked on a sunflower   
seed.   
"Shut up!" Starkweather yelped. "Turn it up!"   
"Is it OUR Doggett though?" Mulder asked.   
"How many Special Agent Doggetts in Savannah can   
there be??"   
"Well, with inbreeding and all..."   
"Mulder, shut the fuck up!"   
  
Mr. Boring was back announcing the rest of the   
story. "... Special Agent John Doggett declined   
to comment...   
"Figures," Starkweather and Mulder groused in   
unison.   
"... However Attorney Catherine Queens says that   
justice will be swift and severe while Dr.   
Kullervo's attorney, Lester Nelson says his   
client needs treatment, not punishment..."   
A sniveling weasel-y voice took the place of Mr.   
Boring.   
"Dr. Kullervo has been suffering undue strain   
because of the enormous responsibility she   
shoulders. Her mind is not where it should be-"   
"Most minds should not be up in asses," Mulder   
snarled.   
"-however I am confident that the court will give   
proper closure to this case by giving this   
brilliant yet sadly troubled woman the help she   
is desperately crying out for."   
"Barf," Starkweather blurted out. "Barf, gag,   
puke, vomit... ack."   
The lawyer's voice was replaced by the boring   
announcer again. "The Georgia Bureau of   
Investigation says that they anticipate more   
victims to be discovered... in local news-"   
Mulder switched off the radio. "I'll be damned."   
"Yeah..." Starkweather said thoughtfully. "I'll   
be damned."   
A moment of silence.   
"Poor guy," Mulder said simply.   
His sister echoed him faintly. "Yeah... poor   
guy."   
Mulder reached over and clumsily, affectionately   
patted her shoulder. Starkweather looked up at   
him briefly, grinned, then put her attention back   
to the road.   
  
Later on that day   
Mrs. Doggett's house   
Savannah, Georgia   
3:15 PM Eastern Standard Time   
His boyhood home always seemed so big to Doggett.   
Until all the relatives came over.   
Aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins, second-  
cousins-once-removed, great aunts and great   
uncles all dominated the house, up and down   
stairs. Women gossiped in the kitchen, Men   
lounged around the living room, watching   
football. Kids were everywhere.   
The house was definitely over it's maximum   
occupancy limit.   
Doggett felt like he was on a see-saw all day.   
His emotions teeter-tottered up and down between   
depressed isolation and nervous claustrophobia.   
Some of his cousins had crowded him, pushing him   
for details of Parker's murder, clapping him on   
the back, calling him a hero. Some of the other   
cousins avoided him as if he was Parker's   
murderer. All of his uncles tried to coax him   
into the manly after-Christmas-dinner tradition   
of drinking beer, smoking cigars and playing   
cards. Some of the older aunts tried to fuss over   
him, mother him and smother him. Some of the   
other old aunts were shooing the children away   
from him, mistakenly thinking the sight of kids   
would arouse memories of his lost little boy.   
The last one made him almost want to laugh. The   
blue sky evoked memories of his son. Try and hide   
that.   
As far as his immediate family, they were   
cocooned by relatives as while. Which was a good   
thing for Stevie and Doggett. As if the relations   
could smell the animosity burning in the air, the   
brothers were kept separated. Coincidence or not,   
Doggett wasn't sure. But didn't care. Because of   
the swarm of family buzzing around the both of   
them, Doggett didn't have to deal with Stevie.   
And that was just fine with him.   
But the same swarm also separated him from his   
mother and sisters and that wasn't so fine with   
him. But his mother was busy in the kitchen,   
Melanie busy being freshly comforted by the   
awestruck aunts and cousins, leaving Chris to try   
and protect the house from the horde of children   
on a sugar-high and Christmas-toy-rush.   
He managed to escape his extended family long   
enough to go upstairs to the bathroom. After   
nature's called had been answered, he washed and   
dried his hands and just as he turned off the   
lights, he heard childish bickering in the room   
next door.   
"Is not!"   
"Is too!"   
"Ow! That's mine! Let go!"   
"I just wanna see!"   
"No!" Then the sound of a little girl sobbing.   
Doggett had opened the door just in time to see a   
boy enough to know better trying to beat feet   
down the hall, carrying a great big blue fuzzy...   
thing. Doggett stepped out in front of him.   
"Whose doll is that Theo?" he asked, knowing damn   
well who the stuffed... thing's rightful owner   
was.   
Theo looked down at his expensive Nikes shoes and   
muttered "Laura's."   
"Didja ask her nicely if you could see that?"   
"Yeah," Theo said defensively.   
"Theo..."   
"Okay, okay."   
"Go give it back."   
"Fine," Theo muttered. He stomped off and Doggett   
could hear the boy snap "Here's your damn monster   
back," and stomp back out of the room where Laura   
had been playing.   
Before Theo could storm downstairs, Doggett   
grabbed his shoulder. "Watch your mouth, else   
I'll be havin' words with your Mama," he used   
that infamous tone of voice to make sure the boy   
knew there was going to be no tolerance for his   
bratty behavior.   
"Okay, fine."   
"I mean it," Doggett let him go. But he called   
after him, "And you shouldn't hit little girls   
either, Theo."   
"I di-" Theo started to protest, then gave up.   
As Theo sulkily went back down stairs, Doggett   
went to check on Laura.   
Laura was sitting on the edge of Chris' old bed,   
smoothing down the fake blue fur of the creature   
Doggett gave her for Christmas. Politely ignoring   
the tear streaks down her pink cheeks, he sat   
down and said "I don't think he'll be bothering   
you anymore, baby."   
Laura looked up at him. "Didja yell at him?"   
"I always yell at bullies," Doggett said with a   
faint smile.   
Always had. Always will.   
"Someday, I'm gonna kick his butt by myself,"   
Laura said hotly. "I'm gonna ask Mama if I can   
take karate lessons or-or-or boxing or wrestlin'   
or somethin' instead of dumb ballet lessons next   
year." She hugged her toy closer to her. "Or   
maybe I can do both... Uncle John?"   
"What sweetheart?"   
"Do I have to go to Uncle Parker's funeral?"   
Oh boy. From boxing and ballet lessons straight   
to life-and-death questions. No neat segues.   
"Well, I think that's something you need to ask   
your Mama and Daddy, Laura."   
"But maybe if you told them I didn't wanna go,"   
she looked up at him hopefully.   
"Honey, why don't you wanna tell them yourself?"   
"'Cause," her eyes dropped guiltily down.   
"'Cause why baby?"   
"'Cause... I'm scared," she admitted.   
"About what?"   
"Ghosts," she whispered. "I'm scared of seein'   
Uncle Park's ghost."   
Doggett opened his mouth to tell her there was no   
such thing as ghosts. Then closed it. Thought for   
a minute. Then, slowly said, "Can I ask ya   
something honey?"   
"Okay..."   
"Did Uncle Parker ever do anything to hurt you or   
scare you when he was still with us?"   
"No..."   
"Then why would his ghost do anything to hurt you   
or scare you?"   
"I don't know... I just thought ghosts were bad."   
"But Uncle Park wasn't a bad person, baby, so I   
don't think his ghost would be bad either." I   
can't believe I'm havin' this conversation   
Doggett stifled a sigh. Reyes or Mulder have done   
a better job explaining the mysteries of the   
afterlife.   
"So... is a ghost kinda like a soul then?"   
That worked. "Kinda." While Laura pondered this,   
Doggett asked her, "Besides honey, if you're not   
scared of monsters, why would you be scared of   
ghosts?"   
Her round little face produced a big smile. "Oh   
Uncle John," she chided him. "I'm not scared of   
monsters 'cause there's no such thing as   
monsters."   
"Oh..." Doggett kept his face perfectly straight.   
"Speakin' of monsters do you like...uh... what I   
gave ya?" He reached out to pat the big blue   
cuddly plush toy from the Disney movie "Monsters   
Inc."   
"Oh yes!" Laura hugged Sulley closer to her.   
"It's my favoritest Christmas present." Then she   
whispered. "But don't tell Mama 'cause I don't   
wanna hurt her feelings."   
"It will be our secret," Doggett said solemnly.   
"Promise?"   
"Promise."   
She spit in her hand and held it out to him. "To   
make sure," she said as he grimaced.   
Reluctantly, he followed suit and they shook   
hands. As Doggett wiped his palm on his jeans,   
Laura wiped hers on the bedspread. "Can you set   
up the DVD player in Grandpa's office so we can   
watch a movie?"   
"Sure," he said, getting up. "Let's go, kiddo."   
Laura slid off the bed, clutching Sulley with one   
hand and her uncle's hand with her other.   
Later that night...   
As the dishwasher began to whir, the last guest   
finally left the house. "Chris, don't worry 'bout   
the clean-up," Mrs. Doggett said, swallowing a   
yawn. "We can do that in the morning before the   
funeral."   
"It's okay Mama," Chris said. "I don't mind."   
"Me neither," Doggett said softly as he entered   
the kitchen. "Go up to bed, Mama. Please."   
Mrs. Doggett looked at her two youngest children   
and shook her head with a half-smile. "Guess I'm   
outnumbered," she said, drying her soapy hands   
with a pink dishtowel. Relinquishing the dishes   
to her daughter, she said, "Good night."   
Brother and sister murmured good night as Mrs.   
Doggett went upstairs.   
As Chris scrubbed the pans that wouldn't fit in   
the dishwasher, Doggett said, "I'm gonna go   
straighten up the livin' room... unless there's   
something you need done in here?"   
She shook her head. "I've got the kitchen under   
control. It's the rest of the house that's   
scary."   
"I've seen scarier," Doggett said dryly. "Trust   
me."   
"Thank you for dealing with Theo today," Chris   
said softly before Doggett left. "And for talking   
to her about Park."   
"Been eavesdroppin' again?"   
She squirmed. When they were much younger,   
Stevie, John and Melanie had always ganged up on   
Chris for listening in on conversations that had   
nothing to do with her. "Well... kinda... but   
thank you." Then she grinned. "Even though I'm   
going to cry all night now because she likes your   
Christmas present better'n mine."   
Doggett grinned back at her and left to repair   
the wreckage left behind the Mistletoe Monsoon.   
As he picked up scraps of wrapping paper, golden   
bows and strands of tinsel off the floor, he   
discovered Melanie seated at the couch.   
"How can you see in here?" he asked her.   
"It's peaceful here," she said. "In the dark."   
She patted the couch cushion next to her. "Come   
sit with me."   
Doggett put the tattered remains of silver bows   
and red and white tissue paper and put them on a   
pile on an in-table next to an overstuffed chair.   
He walked over to the couch and as sat down by   
her, Melanie asked "Where's Mama?"   
"Told her to go to bed. Chris is pickin' up the   
kitchen... don't know where Stevie ran off   
too..." and I don't care Doggett added to   
himself bitterly. "What 'bout you? How come   
you're still up? I thought you would have crashed   
a long time ago."   
"I could say the same for you," she said lightly.   
"Ah, I'll be okay," Doggett lied. "Whatta 'bout   
you? How are you doin'?" His face was crinkled   
with concern.   
Melanie shifted a little, turned to look out the   
window. "I'm fine," she said softly. She frowned,   
thinking about her answer. "I'll be fine. It's   
still... I mean..." she shook her head. "I just   
KNEW I was right... but still, to hear the   
truth... but... at least... I know."   
Doggett felt a slight surge of unreasonable   
jealousy. Before the surge could cause a short   
circuit, Melanie added in an even softer voice,   
"And I can't imagine what you must feel what   
happened with your son. After what you did for me   
and Parker... I wish... I wish I knew... the   
right way to..." Melanie folded her lips,   
struggling for the right words.   
"You can't," Doggett said quietly. "I wouldn't   
let you."   
Melanie closed her eyes. Doggett was afraid she   
was going to burst into tears again. Although her   
voice cracked a little, she did not weep. "You   
are so Got-damned stubborn," she croaked out.   
"Runs in the family," he replied, taking her   
hand. "You know," he scolded her gently. "You   
scared the shit outta me. When we all still   
thought that Park had AIDS. We thought... I   
thought... that you coulda had been HIV positive   
too."   
"Oh," she reddened a bit. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I   
didn't even think. I was so wrapped up with   
Parker, I didn't even think to tell anyone that I   
was okay." She gripped his hand tighter. "And I'm   
going to be okay. I think tomorrow is going to be   
the worse part. When I actually have to say   
goodbye."   
"I hate funerals," Doggett said bluntly.   
That's why Luke's ashes were still on a shelf in   
his closet.   
Melanie stayed silent after his last remark. She   
waited for Doggett to break the silence.   
"Mellie, you've got to be prepared for the damn   
media tomorrow."   
"Why?"   
"There are gonna be photographers and TV crews.   
All whoring for a shot of the widow payin' her   
last respects to the first known victim of Doctor   
Death." He shuddered at the new nickname Delilah   
had earned for herself. "It's gonna be ugly   
Mellie. And there's not a damned thing I can do   
'bout it. They're gonna be on this like stink on   
shit."   
Melanie made a tut-tut-tutting noise with her   
tongue. "Now where did you learn how to cuss like   
that, John Jay Doggett?"   
"New York," he said oh-so-innocently.   
"Damn Yankees," she giggled a little. "And   
speakin' of Yankees..." She got up and crossed   
over to the Christmas, so forlorn now without the   
massive piles of Christmas presents surrounding   
it. She got on her hands and knees and reached   
behind the plastic tree trunk. Smoothing her long   
denim skirt out, she stood up, holding a small   
box, wrapped in cheap red and green wrapping   
paper. "I got your partner something. I wanted to   
get it to you to give to her before I forgot."   
She sat down on the couch again. "I hope she   
likes it. I kind of had to go off on a wing and a   
prayer for her. Wasn't exactly sure what kind of   
things she likes."   
She handed him the gift. Doggett smiled, holding   
the package carefully, as if it contained   
frankincense, gold and myrrh. "That was nice of   
you, Mel. And she'll like it." He added, "Else   
I'll kick her ass."   
"I would," Melanie drawled, "put my money on her   
rather you."   
"I'm bigger'n her though," Doggett whined in a   
wounded voice.   
"She'd play dirty though."   
"Yeah, she'd kick me below the belt and run."   
"No," Melanie said. "She'd tell you how much she   
cares 'bout you and you'd just melt away."   
Confident that her little brother's ears were   
bright pink, she stood up and said. "I need to   
get to bed. And don't worry so much 'bout me,   
Johnny," she smoothed his hair. "I'm going to be   
fine. And I'm not scared 'bout the media. Let 'em   
come. Let 'em show Savannah what Delilah did to   
me and my family," she said bravely. Her smile   
trembled. "Thank you for believing me, Johnny,"   
she told him. "You were the only one. I was so   
afraid you wouldn't. That you would be like   
everyone else."   
"I was afraid I wouldn't believe you either,   
sis," Doggett admitted. "But... I just knew... no   
matter how much my common sense disputed it... I   
just knew..."   
"Knew what?"   
"That the truth was out there."   
Melanie leaned over and hugged him. "Merry   
Christmas, Johnny," she whispered fiercely.   
Doggett kissed her cheek and hugged her back just   
as tightly. "Merry Christmas sis."   
December 26, 2002   
Bonaventure Cemetery   
330 Bonaventure Road   
Savannah Georgia   
11:23 AM Eastern Standard Time   
Doggett never read the book, but he saw the movie   
and in his opinion, the only thing "Midnight in   
the Garden of Good and Evil" got right was the   
cemetery. Centennial oak trees, timeless Spanish   
moss and quirky headstones here and there. Johnny   
Mercer and Conrad Aiken. And the gracious   
Stranger's Tomb. The infamous "Bird Girl" statue,   
harassed by hordes of tourists, clutching their   
paperbacks with her image embossed on the cover,   
was now absent. Protected by glass walls,   
fluorescent lights and rent-a-cop security guards   
at a museum.   
Doggett sat perfectly still, as if the metal   
fold-out chairs were the most comfortable things   
in the world to be sitting on. He pretended to be   
listening to the minister reading Psalm 23 while   
staring straight ahead at the polished oak   
casket. The box carrying Parker Davis' remains   
were awash with the flowers of the South.   
Jasmine. Magnolia. Amaryllis. Hydrangeas and day   
lilies.   
Mr. and Mrs. Davis sat in the first two seats.   
Mrs. Davis, in a God-awful black straw hat, kept   
her face buried in a white handkerchief as her   
husband held his arm stiffly over her shoulders.   
His face, a mix of horror, grief and disbelief.   
Doggett emphasized with the man completely.   
A parent is never supposed to outlive the child,   
no matter how old the child may be.   
  
Next to Mrs. Davis, sat Melanie. Her short brown   
hair had been lightly ruffled by the morning's   
breeze. In one hand, she clutched the impromptu   
bouquet of flowers someone well-meaning plucked   
off the coffin and gave to her. In her other   
hand, she clutched her brother's hand. He gently   
squeezed it as the minister continued to read and   
she turned her head to smile at him.   
On the other side of Doggett was his mother. Who,   
as if they were still rotten children prone to   
misbehaving in church, sat between him and his   
brother. Stevie, in a cheap suit he bought back   
in the early Eighties, stared at the ground. Mrs.   
Doggett kept her head facing the minister, but   
her sharp aquamarine eyes kept flicking back and   
forth between her two sons.   
Doggett heard a sniffle behind him. Chris and   
Mike were sitting behind them. Laura was sitting   
in between her parents, in a grown-up dress,   
trying not to cry. Doggett heard his other sister   
whisper to her, "Baby, it's okay to feel sad.   
That's why we're here. We're all sad about what   
happened to Uncle Park."   
Then Doggett heard the sniffle turn into full-  
force little-girl sobbing and the whisper of   
fabric moving as Chris put her arms around her   
daughter.   
With the exception of Park's sister Melinda, aka   
"His" Mel, Doggett really didn't know anyone else   
at the funeral.   
The media had indeed surrounded the church but by   
some tactic understanding, mercifully did not   
follow the family and friends into Bonaventure   
Cemetery.   
"Yay, though I walk in the valley of the Shadow   
of Death   
I fear no evil; for You are at my side..."   
Perhaps the spirits of the dearly departed from   
long ago kept them at bay.   
The minister closed his Bible and said the trite,   
useless remarks expected at funerals. The   
minister's words went in Doggett's ear and out   
the other.   
"... and before we lay our beloved Parker Davis   
to his final rest, as requested, one final   
song..."   
Doggett cringed. He didn't think he could handle   
one more badly sung hymn. Behind him, Laura   
continued to whimper.   
The minister nodded at one of Parker's relations.   
He turned on the little boom box he brought with   
him and turned the volume up.   
Melanie bowed her head when her wedding song   
began to play. Only then did she start to cry   
softly. Doggett put his arms around her and   
rocked her slightly. She dropped her makeshift   
bouquet to the ground, never to be picked up   
again. Later, it would be crushed under the feet   
of the men who would commit Parker to the earth.   
"The sun and moon every day   
Day and night mark my play   
See the future in the past   
Try to change or make it last   
Go for broke don't regret   
Get your hands dirty get you feet wet   
Take your place use me well   
I'm in your hands so make me tell   
A broken dream seems unkind   
But I can help for I am time   
I can heal you   
It's not a matter of slight   
Only of sound   
Let me... feel for you   
Feel for yourself   
The love all around   
I can... lead you   
Is you soul afraid   
Of what you've made   
Do you know the way   
the spirit goes   
All around on the wind   
Distant whispers of what I bring   
In the day in the night   
Locked in the words of lovers delight   
If I'm lost or mislaid   
Just keep looking don't be afraid   
In the eye on the mind   
I'm everything and yours to find   
I'm not far just discover   
I'm in you for I am love   
I can heal you   
It's not a matter of slight   
Only of sound   
Let me... feel for you   
Feel for yourself   
The love all around   
I can... lead you   
Is you soul afraid   
Of what you've made   
Do you know the way   
the spirit goes..."   
Later...   
Melanie stood at the coffin, arms crossed   
tightly. Doggett stayed seated in his chair,   
watching his sister. There almost no one left.   
"Melanie?"   
Doggett and Melanie turned their heads to look at   
their mother. Stevie stood by her side like an   
angry underpaid bodyguard.   
"Yes Mama?" Melanie replied, turning to look at   
the coffin again.   
"It's time," Mrs. Doggett said firmly yet gently.   
Melanie nodded. Inhaled. Closed her eyes. Reached   
out to touch the casket one last time. Feeling   
the polished wood and the prickly greenery   
surrounding the flowers. She bent over and   
whispered something that only Parker would be   
able to hear. Then she straightened herself up   
and walked over to her mother and other brother.   
"Are you gonna ride with us, Mama?" Melanie asked   
as she took another Kleenex out of her purse to   
dab her eyes.   
Doggett got off his chair and joined his family.   
"No," Mrs. Doggett told her. "I'm going to ride   
with John." When Stevie frowned, Mrs. Doggett,   
tiny, frail and gray-haired, glared at her oldest   
child and snapped "You take care of your sister   
now."   
"Yes'm," Stevie said sullenly as he took Melanie   
by the arm. Melanie politely shrugged him off,   
but walked with him to the waiting funeral limo.   
She knew damn well her mother wanted to have a   
private word with John and this was probably   
going to be the only opportunity for her to do   
so.   
Mother and son stood, surrounded by statues of   
beautiful marble women leaning on crosses, tall   
shady trees and uncomfortable silence.   
"Walk with me for a bit," Mrs. Doggett said.   
Doggett grinned. It wasn't a request. "Now what   
did I do?" he quipped, walking closer to her. He   
crooked his arm and felt his mother's hand   
gripping the crook of his elbow. He was surprised   
that she actually needed his support walking. He   
always thought of her as invincible.   
Well, her body may be weakening, but not her   
mind.   
"First of all, I should wash your mouth out with   
soap for using such filthy language in my house."   
"Knew that I wasn't going last long about that   
one," Doggett sighed.   
"And I'm proud of you," she added quietly.   
Doggett looked down at her, completely surprised   
at the sentiment.   
As Doggett wrestled within himself for the right   
response, his mother stumbled a little on a stone   
she did not see. "Careful, Mama," Doggett said as   
he steadied her.   
"I'm fine," she assured him. "It's you I worry   
about."   
Here we go Doggett thought dismally. "Don't.   
I'm fine."   
"I'm your mother," she reminded him primly. "It's   
in the job description."   
"Mama, please," he groaned. "Don't worry over me.   
Okay? It's Melanie who needs it. I'm okay."   
"Worryin' is like lovin'. It can multiply so that   
there is plenty to go around," Mrs. Doggett   
replied. "I'll have plenty of concern and care to   
give to Melanie and still have enough to give to   
you and Chris and Stevie." With an aggravated   
sigh, she added. "John, you're a grown man, I'm   
not telling you how to run your life. I just   
worry. I think the last few years have really   
taken a lot of the spirit out of you and I just   
hate to see that."   
"Work takes a lot outta me right now," Doggett   
admitted. "I'm... I'm just really tired, Mama."   
"You should go home," she said, nodding her head.   
"Yeah, we're almost to the car."   
"No," she said quietly. "I mean you should go   
home to Washington. Tonight."   
"You don't want me here anymore?" Doggett asked,   
subdued.   
Hearing the hurt in his voice, she rushed to   
placate him. "I would love it if you came back to   
Savannah... I would love if even if you came back   
to Atlanta or Macon or... but... **I** would love   
it. And Melanie and Chris would love it." She   
tactfully did not mention Stevie. She said   
instead: "You wouldn't. You would not be happy   
livin' here. Your life is in DC with your job and   
your friends... I met that lady you work with.   
Miss Starkweather?"   
"It's Mrs. Starkweather," Doggett flatly   
corrected her.   
"Mrs. Starkweather," Mrs. Doggett corrected   
herself. "Little thing like her? An FBI agent?   
Just like you?"   
"Uh-huh," Doggett nodded his head, "She may be   
little… but she kicks a— she's a fighter, Mama."  
"I figured on that. I count on that." She said   
softly, for once swallowing the urge to reprimand   
her son's foul mouth.   
"How does her husband feel about that?"   
"He didn't like it much."   
"Past tense, son?"   
"He's dead, Mama. He was killed in a drive-by   
shooting a few weeks ago." Recalling a fragment   
from his haunted dreams, he added. "He was in the   
wrong place at the wrong time."   
"I see," Mrs. Doggett said. "She seems to be   
holding up well." When Doggett snorted, she asked   
"You don't believe her?"   
"I dunno..." Doggett mumbled. "She really hasn't   
talked to me much about it. What happened."   
"I see," Mrs. Doggett repeated herself. "She is   
taking some time off of work though, isn't she?"   
"They've granted her a bereavement leave."   
"So that's how she was able to come from   
Washington to Savannah on a spur of moment   
notice."   
"I didn't ask her to come down..."   
"But she did."   
"Well... yeah..."   
"She must have been extremely concerned about you   
to come here."   
"She's my partner. We watch out for each other.   
We have too. Someday, my life may depend on her   
and vice versa." When Mrs. Doggett looked up at   
him, her eyebrows rising in question, he added.   
"And we're friends. We do stuff for each other...   
underneath all the... she's a nice girl and she   
was just checkin' up on me."   
"Then don't you think you should extend that same   
courtesy to her and go back to Washington to see   
how she is?"   
Doggett knew he lost this argument. Still, his   
loyalty dictated that he persist. "What about you   
and Melanie?"   
"There's still phone lines and mail service to   
and from Washington and Savannah, isn't there?"   
Mrs. Doggett pointed out to him. "Plus, Laura has   
asked me several times to let her teach me how to   
work this Internet-thing, so maybe once I get it   
figured out, I can start sending you B-mails."   
"E-mail, Mama," Doggett corrected, forcing   
himself to keep his face straight.   
"Whatever," Mrs. Doggett grumbled. "John, for   
some of us, Savannah is home and we'll never   
leave. For the rest, it's a wonderful place to   
visit. And you need to visit more," she scolded   
him. "Lots more. But you also need to go home."   
Another fragment of a dream wormed its way up   
from his subconscious to the front of his mind:   
**"And I never lost any sleep over it John... You   
might as well go... You belong out there, not   
here. You don't want to be in here anyway, I can   
see it in your eyes, son. You're dyin' to get out   
of here. You're dyin' to run away again."**   
"It just feels like I'm runnin' away again and   
leaving y'all when you need me," Doggett   
admitted, embarrassed at how arrogant and how   
weak he managed to sound all at the same time.   
Mrs. Doggett looked at him sternly. "What about   
that girl, your partner up in Washington? Are you   
just going to forget about her or are you going   
to master bein' in two places at once?" She   
softened her voice. "If we need you to come back,   
we will call. I want you to be happy John. That's   
all I ever wanted for my children. Son, do you   
know why I'm so proud of you? Especially today?"   
Doggett didn't trust himself to speak so he only   
shook his head.   
"Because you always do what's right, even when   
it's not easy. And it would be easy for you to   
stay in Savannah... but it wouldn't be right. You   
need to get home. You need to visit us more   
often, but you need to go home now. Back up to   
your friend."   
"Because she needs me," Doggett sighed, feeling   
another burden being added onto his shoulders.   
"No," Mrs. Doggett shook her head. "Because you   
need her."   
  
Later on...   
En route to Savannah/Hilton Head International   
Airport   
6:35 PM Eastern Standard Time   
Mrs. Doggett had prepared a light, early supper   
so Doggett could eat something before flying back   
to DC.   
"It's a miracle I got a flight from Savannah to   
DC last minute," Doggett commented as he watched   
the low country zip by as Melanie maneuvered her   
aged Blazer through traffic. "There were no   
flights to Savannah left from Dulles or Ronald   
Reagan when I was trying to come down here."   
"I was wonderin' why you flew into Atlanta,"   
Melanie murmured as she merged into interstate   
traffic.   
"Yeah, but I get to fly to Chicago first, then   
Boston, then DC," he grumbled. "And I have to   
switch flights at O'Hare."   
"Hope you aren't attached to you luggage,"   
Melanie quipped.   
"Shit, I just hope they don't make me take off my   
shoes again."   
"What?"   
"Never mind." Doggett looked at Melanie and   
blurted out. "Are you okay with me goin' home? I   
can stay, nobody is expectin' me back in DC until   
after the New Yea-"   
"John," Melanie cut him off kindly. "It's okay.   
Really. Chris and Mike hafta go back to work   
tomorrow. I'm gonna be busy with the lawyers with   
the lawsuits and all..." she sighed.   
Most of the afternoon had been spent discussing   
whether or not Melanie should launch a civil suit   
against Dr. Kullervo and the hospital. Melanie   
had no qualms about suing Dr. Kullervo but was   
unsure about suing the hospital as well.   
It was Chris' husband that had tipped the scales.   
"Look, Melanie," Mike had told her. "Kullervo,   
you're not gonna see a dime from that bitch.   
She'll claim insanity or keep appealing or   
something. The hospital... well, they'll probably   
settle outta court just to keep the scandal to a   
minimum. And face it Mel, you've got to be   
practical. You've got bills to pay and half of   
your income is gone. I don't mean to be   
disrespectful, but you have to be able to take   
care of yourself. I don't want to see you lose   
your house and your car and everything else.   
Losin' Park because of that bitch was enough."   
So Melanie agreed to file suit against the   
hospital as well. "After all, Mel," Doggett had   
told her, "the investigation is just startin'. If   
Tiffleton was in on it, who knows who else was   
helpin' her kill these people. Whether the Senior   
Staff and Administration likes it or not, they're   
responsible for Parker's death too. And the   
others."   
The death toll by Dr. Kullervo's hand was now up   
to nine people.   
Melanie was still talking, "... so that would   
leave just you and Stevie and Mama and I think   
Mama's tired of playin' referee 'tween you two."   
"Well, when Stevie grows the f*ck up, then Mama   
won't hafta be the ref anymore," Doggett snapped.   
"Johnny, you know he's just jealous because you   
left and he got stuck bein' Daddy's whippin' boy   
for the rest of his life."   
"That's his fuckin' decision. To stay in   
Savannah. Not my fault."   
Melanie shook her head. "It's never gonna be good   
between you two, is it?"   
Doggett folded his lips. There were still some   
secrets he kept. Even from Melanie. "No."   
Melanie sighed and gave up on that topic. But she   
had a sinking feeling that the bitterness between   
the brothers would not abate. That it would have   
to erupt and burn everything and everyone in it's   
path before either one of them could achieve   
resolution.   
And absolution.   
For now, she left the topic of Stephen and John   
severely alone. What will come will come. There   
was no point in begging for trouble.   
"Speakin' of movin'," she said, tactfully   
changing the subject. "Could I ask you something?   
And be honest."   
"Sure."   
"I am forty-three years old," she said quietly,   
concentrating on the road. "Parker and I got   
married when he was eighteen and I was nineteen.   
And, with the exception of the occasional   
vacation to Florida or up to New York to visit   
you when you were still livin' there, I have   
never left Georgia."   
She took a quivery breath. "Every thing 'bout   
Savannah reminds me Park. I love him, we had a   
happy life. But it hurts so bad. Bein' here   
without him. And now knowing that..." she gulped.   
"I know I'll forgive Delilah eventually. But not   
now. It's too hard, it's too new to forgive right   
now..."   
Only Melanie could talk about forgiveness. Her   
husband was killed and she had to be convinced to   
sue the hospital. Doggett's son was killed and   
Doggett wanted vindication. Almost a decade   
later, he still longed for that. An eye for an   
eye. A death for a death.   
"I just... I don't want to be in Savannah   
anymore. I don't want to stay here. I love this   
city. I don't wanna start hatin' it because I am   
alone in it. Chris and Mike may be moving back to   
Atlanta in a year or two, his boss is making   
noises about a promotion and transfer. And if   
that happens... well, Mama's gettin' 'long in   
years, she's been talkin' about sellin' the house   
and movin' in with her sister in Atlanta..." she   
snickered. "Which means Stevie would be out on   
his butt..."   
"Poor baby," Doggett said without a trace of   
sympathy.   
"So if Mike and Chris move, Mama probably will   
too..." Melanie concentrated on the road. They   
were nearing the airport. "So what I wanted to   
ask... do you... do you think I would like   
Washington DC?" she asked hopefully.   
"You would hate DC," Doggett told her truthfully.   
"But you would love Falls Church."   
  
Just outside of Savannah/Hilton Head   
International Airport   
7:15 PM Eastern Standard Time   
"Got everything?" Melanie asked him before she   
sat the car door.   
"If not, Mama'll send it to me," Doggett said,   
clutching his suitcase and briefcase. "I better   
hurry up so I can stand in line for two hours,"   
he said as Melanie walked closer to him. He put   
his bags down so his arms could be free for the   
bear hug she was going to give him.   
"Take care of yourself, Mellie," Doggett told   
her.   
"You too," she replied. "Don't stay away from   
home so long next time, Johnny. Especially since   
there might not be any of left in Savannah for   
you to come home to."   
"I'll visit when I can," Doggett promised. "You   
know I'm at the mercy of the Bureau and the X-  
Files, but when I can, I'll come. And if you're   
serious... 'bout movin' to DC..."   
"I'll let you know. It won't be tomorrow or   
anything. It probably wouldn't even be six   
months. I'd have to sell the house, find a job.   
Plus with startin' up the lawsuit... but I'll let   
you know. I'll need somebody to carry all the   
heavy shit."   
"Gee, thanks."   
"You're stallin'," Melanie admonished her   
brother.   
"You know how **cold** it is in DC??"   
"You didn't mention anything about cold..."   
"If you move to DC, you may wanna invest in   
mittens."   
"Mittens? What are those?" she teased him.   
"Call me if you need anything," he told her. "Or   
even if you don't."   
One last hug, then Doggett picked up his suitcase   
and briefcase. "'Bye sis," he told her, kissing   
her cheek, then making himself walk away.   
Melanie hugged herself as she watched her   
"little" brother disappear into the airport. She   
closed her eyes and felt fat tears slowly begin   
to trickle down her cheeks. "'Bye Johnny," she   
whispered.   
With his all of his careers, soldier, police   
officer and now federal agent, she was always   
scared that every time she saw him, was going to   
be the last. She sometimes had nightmares of   
getting that dreaded phone call: "Melanie... it's   
Mama... you need to come over... something's   
happened to John..."   
How bitterly ironic it was the man she had taken   
for granted, had assumed she was going to grow   
old with was the one taken away.   
And yet, he was with her still.   
In the spirit, anyway.   
Epilogue…  
December 27, 2001   
Washington DC   
4:45 PM Eastern Standard Time   
Doggett maneuvered his truck through the slushy   
streets. Spoiled by Savannah's wonderful weather,   
he shivered as he turned the heat up another   
notch. No ocean breezes or jasmine here. Only icy   
winds, gray streets and national monuments.   
Testimonies to man's illusion of greatness.   
Drumming his fingers along with the radio on his   
steering wheel, he slowed his truck down as   
Pennsylvania Avenue melded into Washington DC   
Residential. Humming along to the song without   
even realizing it.   
"I go out walkin after midnight,   
Out in the moonlight, just like we used to do,   
I'm always walkin after midnight searchin for   
you..."   
I'm just gonna stop in quick, give 'er her   
present, make sure she's okay and go home he   
told himself. No big deal. I won't stay   
long... He peered through his windshield.   
"What'n the hel- oh, Christ, almighty..." he   
grumbled, slowing his truck down even more for   
the blond woman in a dorky stocking cap, a block   
ahead of him.   
"...I go out walkin after midnight,   
Out in the moonlight, just hopin you may be   
Somewhere a-walkin after midnight searchin for   
me!"   
She looked like a pack mule as she trudged   
through the snow toting her big black knapsack on   
her back. Doggett had recognized the knapsack   
before he recognized her. When the weather was   
nice enough to take the motorcycle to work, she   
carried the knapsack instead of her briefcase.   
"... Today's Best County, 98.7 WMZQ," the way too   
happy afternoon drive time personality chirped.   
"And by request, that was a classic from the   
great Patsy Cline, 'Walkin' After Midnight. More   
great country on the wa-" Doggett clicked off the   
radio as he rolled the truck to a stop. Hitting   
the down button on the power windows, he called   
out "What'n the hell are you doing?????"   
Starkweather jumped, her FBI trained hand   
instinctively moving to the inside of her coat.   
"Jesus God, Doggett! Don't sneak up on me like   
that!"   
"I'm in a big blue Dodge Ram, how can I sneak up   
on you? And that doesn't answer my question what   
the hell you're doin' walkin' in the snow at this   
time of day," he glared at her as she put her   
hands to her mouth, blowing on them. "And where   
are your gloves??"   
"I lost them," she said nonchalantly. "So are you   
gonna yell at me until I freeze or are you gonna   
give me a ride home?"   
"Get in," he leaned over to open the truck door   
for her.   
Starkweather slung off her backpack and tossed it   
inside the nice warm truck. As she struggled to   
pull herself up, she griped "This Monster Truck   
is not friendly to short people!" Doggett held   
out his hand and helped her inside. She rubbed   
her purpling hands together and held them to the   
heater vents.   
"Put your seatbelt on," Doggett told her as he   
put the truck into drive again.   
"Yes Dad," Starkweather said obediently as she   
buckled up. "So what are you doing back in DC? I   
thought you said you were stayin' until after the   
New Year?"   
"Change of plans," Doggett told her. "What about   
you? What possess you to walk out in weather like   
this?"   
"It's thirty degrees."   
"Below zero."   
"Wuss." She pulled off her stocking cap. Strands   
of her blond hair stood up erratically, frazzled   
by static electricity. Smoothing her hair she   
added, "Besides, it's not like I ran a marathon.   
I just walked to the Walgreen's that's like a   
block away. I was running out of some stuff like   
milk and cat food and I didn't want to do real   
grocery shopping since I'm moving in a day or   
two. Plus the car is making this interesting   
thumping noise under the hood so y'know, I   
thought I'd just take a brisk walk."   
"Are you nuts?"   
"No, I'm Jerilyn Starkweather."   
"Pain in the ass."   
"So what brings you to MY part of town, Special   
Agent Doggett?" Starkweather leaned back in her   
seat, her wicked eyes sparkling.   
"I just happened to be passin' through," Doggett   
said innocently.   
Starkweather lifted her feet. "It's getting deep   
in here."   
"And I wanted to tell you 'bout what happened   
with my brother-in-law Parker," he added on a   
somber note.   
She nodded and put her feet down. "Yeah. I heard   
part of it on the news. But considering the fact   
that my ass is probably going to get hauled in to   
testify, I'd like some more details."   
  
A little later   
Jerilyn Starkweather's apartment   
"Damn," Doggett said, looking at the neat stacks   
of boxes. "Looks like you're ready to go."   
"Yeah," Starkweather said, shrugging off her coat   
and laying it on another stack of boxes next to   
the armchair. "This is what I get to be doing on   
New Year's Eve. Lucky me."   
Doggett noticed a cardboard box filled with   
opened Christmas presents. "So was Santa good to   
you?" he said, being a snoop and poking around   
the box.   
"I told you the fat old bastard skipped my house   
this year. Those are all from Mulder and Scully   
and the Lone Gunmen."   
Doggett held up a t-shirt that said "UFOS Exist.   
The Air Force is Fake" and drawled "Ya don't   
say?"   
"Yeah, take a wild guess who THAT was from," she   
rolled her eyes. Then she grinned like a naughty   
little kid. "But... huh, funny. He didn't really   
like the shirt I gave him."   
"Which was?"   
"It had a picture of President Nixon and Elvis on   
the front with the caption 'We're Dead'   
underneath. On the back, it said 'Really really   
dead'." She disappeared into the kitchen.   
"Kittykittykittykittykitty!" she called out.   
Caesar Dictator, like the autocrat his namesake   
was, leapt off a tower of boxes onto the coffee   
table. He licked one paw, looked up, saw Doggett,   
hissed at him, tail twitching.   
"You even think of bitin' me..." Doggett growled.   
"Be nice to my cat."   
"I AM bein' nice to your cat," Doggett retorted,   
still glaring at the tabby cat as he took his   
coat off.   
Caesar lifted his tail and daintily leapt off the   
table and pranced to the kitchen. Doggett heard   
the whir of a can opened. Heard her being   
sickeningly sweet to the Spawn of Satan. "Hey,   
there's my kitten-critter! Hi baby! Worship me, I   
went out in the snow to get you canned cat food.   
Who's your mama?"   
He reached into his coat pocket and took out the   
gift Melanie got for Starkweather. He was holding   
it when Starkweather came out of the kitchen. "So   
anyway, what happened wit-" Her eyes widened and   
then narrowed when she saw the present. "I could   
choke you right now," she fumed. "We agreed we   
weren't going to buy pres-"   
"This isn't from me," Doggett told her, holding   
it out to her. "It's from my sister, Melanie."   
"Oh," Starkweather said sheepishly, accepting the   
gift. "I knew that."   
"Uh-huh."   
"She didn't have to get me anything,"   
Starkweather said, tearing open the tissue paper   
and opening the box. As she pulled out Bushy, the   
yellow and orange too-cute-for-words Beanie Baby,   
Starkweather mumbled, "She REALLY didn't have to   
get me anything..."   
Doggett shook with suppressed laughter as he   
watched Starkweather struggling to be nice about   
Melanie's gift. "She said she wasn't sure what to   
get you," he managed to get out. "I had no idea   
she was getting you something."   
"It's... cute."   
"Doc, if you don't like it, it's okay. I'm not   
gonna tell her."   
"Well, he does kind of look like Caesar. With the   
orange and yellow and all..." She looked at the   
little toy again and then up at Doggett. "I just   
don't get Beanie Babies. They're bean bags with   
feet and faces." She looked at it again. "I'll   
have to find a good place to put this so Caesar   
doesn't tear it apart. I have a shadowbox. When I   
unpack it, I'll stick this guy in there.   
Hopefully, Mr. Destruction won't be able to get   
his paws on it." She looked up at Doggett again.   
"Tell her thank you. This was really nice of   
her."   
"Okay."   
"How is she doing?"   
"Best she can under the circumstances."   
"I like her," Starkweather said, looking down at   
the toy again. "She's a nice person." She looked   
up at Doggett with a fey grin. "And stubborn as a   
mule."   
"Hm. Pot, kettle, black...?"   
"Oh shut up," Starkweather shook her head and   
turned her back to open a box on the overstuffed   
chair to put the stuffed lion inside. As she was   
doing so, Doggett pulled out a slender CD jewel   
case, wrapped in garish holiday wrapping, from   
his back jean pocket and set it quickly on the   
coffee table. He assumed his innocent face as   
Starkweather turned around again. "So," she said,   
pushing her long untethered hair out of her face.   
"Tell me ab-" her hazel eyes flicked down to the   
red and green package sitting on her coffee   
table. "You son-of-a-bitch," she scowled.   
"Aren't you gonna open it?"   
"Tell me," she groaned as she leaned down to pick   
up the present. "Why I'm not killing you now?"   
When Doggett chuckled, she snarled. "I'm serious!   
I thought we said no presents."   
"A," Doggett pointed out to her. "YOU said no   
presents. B, you said no BUYING each other   
presents. And I didn't buy that," he said as   
Starkweather removed the wrapping paper and   
opened the CD jewel case. "I downloaded it from   
the Internet."   
"You bought the CD-R though," Starkweather said   
sweetly.   
"No I didn't," Doggett retorted just as sweet.   
"Where did you get it, then?"   
"Stole it from my brother."   
Starkweather's mouth dropped open. Then she   
covered it with her hand. "Oh my God," she said   
and started to laugh.   
It was the first real laugh he heard from her in   
a long time.  
"Wow," Starkweather said, "I'm special. A two-CD   
set," She pulled on of the CDs out and read the   
label out loud. "'Loud and Angry Music'," then   
the label of the CD still inside the case. "'Not   
so Loud and Angry Music.' Nice... real nice."   
"Thought you'd like that," Doggett said.   
"Well, at least I didn't pack the stereo yet,   
that's tomorrow's job." She turned and maneuvered   
around the boxes to the entertainment center.   
Opening the glass door, she turned the CD player   
on. As she slipped the 'Not so Loud and Angry   
Music' CD in, she said, "You know, this really   
makes me look bad.   
"Why?"   
"Because I really didn't get you anything."   
"I wasn't expectin' anything."   
"Doing anything tonight?"   
"Um... no..."   
"Good. Because I'm buying dinner. So sit down and   
make yourself comfortable."   
"Aw, Doc, you don't have to-"   
"Sit."   
Doggett sat down on the sofa.   
Starkweather looked over her shoulder. "You are   
trainable," she purred as she hit play.   
"Kiss my ass."   
"Chinese, Mexican or pizza?" she asked, reaching   
for the cell phone that hung on her belt clip.   
"Can we get pizza with thick crust?"   
"I don't like thick crust," she whined.   
"Okay, fine. Chinese."   
Starkweather smiled as she hit one of her speed   
dial buttons. "Dominos? Yeah, hi, I'd like to   
order a large, THICK," she paused long enough to   
stick out her tongue at her partner, "crust pizza   
for delivery... toppings??? Oh shit, you had to   
complicate things didn't you..."  
  
Later that night...   
"Caesar, no," Starkweather said, pushing the   
inquisitive cat away from the pizza box. "Shoo."   
As Starkweather closed the pizza box lid and put   
two empty beer bottles on top of it, Caesar   
flattened his ears and skulked off. Picking up   
her half-full, still cold beer bottle, she leaned   
back into the couch. Resting her cheek against   
the cushion, feet tucked underneath her, she   
asked her partner, "So now what happens?"   
"Well," Doggett took a swig of Bud Light before   
continuing. "Melanie's gonna sue. Kullervo and   
the hospital."   
"How much?"   
"Kullervo, as much as she's worth. The hospital,   
only seventy-thousand."   
"Why only that? She could get millions."   
"She could, but she doesn't wanna deal with all   
the bullshit to get it. And besides, Park, he   
loved his job and was good at it, but he didn't   
make that much. And you know she ain't gonna see   
a dime from Kullervo. And the hospital will   
probably agree to settle out of court for   
somewhere in between forty and fifty. Even if she   
gets forty, with the job she has now, forty will   
take care of her for at least two years or until   
she sells the house."   
"Still..."   
"Yeah, I know. It sucks. But... I think Mel   
thinks it wouldn't be right to profit from Park's   
death."   
Starkweather shook her head. "Goddammit," she   
said softly. "If we only knew earlier." She   
released a ragged breath. Looked up at Doggett.   
Frustrated, she said, "You know Kullervo's gonna   
walk. I've been reading her medical history. Bi-  
polar. Manic depressive. Bulimic. Self-esteem   
issues. Emotionally abused. Plus she was self-  
medicating herself for depression. She's gonna   
claim temporary insanity and walk. Maybe the   
judge will order her to an institution, but...   
God, this pisses me off."   
"I know... but at least her medical license is   
gone."   
"Crappy consolation prize. I'd rather see the   
bitch locked up. Or drawn and quartered. Or   
buried up to her neck in a pit of fire ants."   
"Well, we'll see how her trial goes. Who knows,"   
Doggett settled into the couch more and stretched   
out his long legs. His eyelids felt heavy. He   
felt very warm, very comfortable and slightly   
drunk. I gotta be tired if the beer's hittin'   
me this hard he thought I've only had...   
three? I think... "Maybe hell'll freeze over   
and she'll get jail time."   
"That would be a nice change... I just... I   
mean... Jiminy fucking Christmas, Doggett... WHY   
didn't Melanie tell you Parker was sick sooner?"   
In a tight voice, he said. "Because Parker told   
her not to. Because he didn't wanna bother me."   
"Bother you????"   
"'Cause he started to get sick mid-September.   
Right after-"   
"Nine-eleven," Starkweather covered her face.   
"Awwwwwwww fuck," she groaned, kicking the coffee   
table leg in frustration. She dropped her hands.   
"I'm sorry, Papa John," she said sincerely.   
"S'ok, Doc. At least we know what happened. We've   
got the truth now. And Delilah can't do this   
bullshit to anyone else."   
"I guess," Starkweather muttered as she leaned   
down to scratch the returning Caesar's ears.   
"Yeah... you're right. It's a good thing. And   
it'll be best for Melanie in the long run. She's   
been through a hell. She deserves closure."   
"Speakin' of hell," Doggett said softly as   
Starkweather picked up the cat and placed him in   
her lap. "How are you doin'? And," he said,   
interrupting her before she could speak. "Yes I'm   
checkin' up on you. Deal with it."  
"Like I have a choice," she said, absently   
petting her cat. After thinking for a moment, she   
asked quietly, "If I tell you I'm fine, you're   
going to think I'm full of shit, right?"   
"Right."   
She tickled underneath Caesar's chin. Caesar   
purred loudly as she spoke. "I miss him. For four   
years, he was big part of my life. Granted, the   
two years we were married sucked but... some   
days, it feels weird. Like he's just working late   
at the office. Or that he's visiting his parents   
in Minnesota. Other days... like yesterday, he   
was very very dead." Delicately, with her finger,   
she stroked the bridge of Caesar's nose. "He   
loved Christmas. That was his holiday. The first   
Christmas we were married, we drove all around   
Minneapolis and Saint Paul, looking at Christmas   
lights. And it was snowing and we stopped at this   
park and..." she smiled at the memory.   
"We were acting so stupid. It was a kid's park so   
we were running around the monkey bars and the   
swings and going down this slide and we got into   
a snowball fight and it was three in the God damn   
morning and we both had to get up early but we   
didn't care.... and it's that kind of stuff I   
miss. Just the dumb stuff we used to together."   
She smiled, remembering. "He wasn't always... he   
was fun. He was spontaneous. And we liked so much   
of the same stuff. Movies and music and books.   
And cats," she petted Caesar again. "He got me   
this monster instead of an engagement ring   
because he couldn't afford a diamond at that   
time. And he loved photography. One time, after   
we were both done with our obligation to the Air   
Guard for the weekend, he told me to get into the   
car and we drove out to see the Bridges of   
Madison County. And he took pictures and we had a   
picnic and... I don't know, he and I used always   
do shit like that before we got married. He was   
like my best friend. You only saw the bad shit.   
The shit that made me draw up those divorce   
papers. You never saw when it was good between   
us..."   
Starkweather looked up at Doggett. "But the part   
that gets me the most... is that... all the stuff   
I miss about Ben..." she blinked a few times and   
swallowed, pausing. Thinking. She started again   
in a hushed voice. "All the things I miss about   
Ben, I was missing while he was still alive." She   
dropped her head. "Does that make any sense?"   
"Yeah," he told her, scooting closer. "It does."   
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Don't mean to... dump this   
all on you."   
"I asked."   
"I should have said I was fine."   
"And I would have said bullshit." Doggett reached   
out to try and pet Caesar. Caesar swiped at him.   
"Ow! Fucking cat," he grumbled, putting his   
abused fingers in his mouth.   
"Need a bandage?"   
"No, but I need cat gut to string my violin."   
"You don't play violin."   
"I can learn..." he glared at the cat sitting   
smugly in Starkweather's lap. Serious again, he   
said. "And yeah... Ben was... um... Ben was...   
uh..."   
"A prick," Starkweather finished for him. "You   
can say it."   
"A prick," Doggett said. "But he had one   
redeemin' trait you get to keep with you   
forever."   
"What's that?"   
"He loved you," he said gently as she swiftly   
looked down at her cat again. "I dunno... maybe   
it's different with you and Ben... but that's   
what gets me through sometimes when I think about   
my son." Surprised, Starkweather looked up at   
him, her eyes warmed to a golden brown color by   
sympathy. He so rarely discussed his son with   
anyone. "I mean... I dunno, maybe I'm bein'   
stupid. Maybe I don't wanna let go. But... he   
loved me. And nothin' can take that from me."   
"I don't think that's stupid," she whispered,   
closing her eyes to trap the tears. Eyes still   
closed, she shook her head. "That's not stupid."   
She opened her eyes. "Do you want some coffee?"   
she asked hoarsely, swiftly changing the subject.   
"Yeah," he said faintly. "If you're gonna make   
some."   
"I'll be right back," she pushed Caesar off of   
her and bolted into the kitchen.   
Doggett leaned back onto the couch and closed his   
eyes.   
Starkweather leaned against the fridge for a   
minute, pressing the pads of her thumb and   
pointer finger to her eyes. Come on Jerilyn   
she told herself. Gotta get over this crying   
bullshit. It's not going to fix anything. It's   
not going to bring Ben or Mom or Dad or anyone   
else back. Get your shit together. She blinked   
her eyes a couple of times, then grabbed the   
coffee carafe and began filling it with water.   
As the aroma of Folgers filled the kitchen, she   
invented tasks for herself to complete to give   
herself time to stop feeling so emotional. Before   
getting the coffee cups, she peeked at her   
reflection in the toaster. Using her pinkies, she   
wiped away the smudged eyeliner. Then she poured   
coffee into two blue mugs, heaping loads of sugar   
into hers while leaving his black.   
"I left yours black like you like it,"   
Starkweather started to say as she left the   
kitchen. Then she stopped stock still in the   
doorway. "Oh..."   
Doggett's head was tilted forward, his eyes   
closed, mouth slightly open. His arms lay limply   
at his sides. His chest rose and fell with every   
breath. Caesar was laying on his lap, tail curled   
up around his fluffy body.   
"Cat," Starkweather whispered as she retreated   
back into the kitchen. "Why can't you be nice to   
him when he's awake?"   
After dumping Doggett's coffee down the drain,   
she reached into the cardboard box that was   
holding the contents of the liquor cabinet. Felt   
around until she felt the squat bottle of   
Bailey's Irish Crème Liquor. She decanted it and   
poured a heavy dollop into her already sweetened   
coffee. Carrying only her coffee out, she   
returned to the living room. Doggett was still   
out for the count, now starting to snore   
slightly. "Damn," Starkweather murmured to   
herself as she sipped her spiked coffee. In a   
slightly louder voice, she said, "Doggett." She   
repeated herself. "Doggett." Then she tried what   
she thought would be guaranteed to get his   
attention. "John. John, wake up."   
Nothing. His lights were out.   
"Dammit," she muttered, standing there debating.   
I should go over there and shake him and send   
him home. He's had a bad couple of days. Okay,   
beyond bad. He needs to get real sleep.   
She stood there.   
Jerilyn, with all the bullshit going on right   
now in the X-Files, him staying here looks REALLY   
bad. REALLY REALLY bad.   
She stood there.   
She looked heavenwards. "Fuck you, Ben," she said   
softly, setting her mug on the coffee table.   
Creeping around the coffee table, she tried to   
coax her cat to get off of her friend. "Here   
kitty, kitty," she whispered. "Come here baby."   
Caesar lifted his head, stared at her. Bored, he   
dropped his head to his paws and began to nap   
again.   
"Fucking cat," she seethed as she reached for   
him. Caesar yowled a loud complaint, but Doggett   
didn't even move. "Go away," Starkweather hissed   
at her pet as she put him on the floor. Caesar   
promptly trotted off to Starkweather's bedroom   
where he coughed up a hairball in of her favorite   
high heels.   
Meanwhile, careful not to wake him, she wrapped   
her small hands around his ankles and lifted his   
leg onto the coffee table. After repeating the   
same action with the other leg, she unlaced his   
ugly brown hiking boots he had gotten in   
deferment to Washington's miserable winter   
weather. She watched him in apprehension as she   
slowly pulled the first boot off. His face   
relaxed and his shoulders slumped a little more.   
A soft sigh of contentment escaped from him as   
his head lolled to one side.   
Starkweather retreated to her bedroom to rummage   
through some more moving boxes and came back out   
bearing a hideous golden yellow and black afghan   
she had acquired while a med student at the   
University of Iowa. It smelled like mothballs.   
Despite this, she threw the blanket over her   
friend. She reached for a throw pillow and tucked   
it behind his head. Pausing, she stood there,   
regarding him. She smiled and cupped the side of   
his face with her hand. "Yeah...." she said   
affectionately as she traced his cheekbone with   
her thumb. "You're alright." She smoothed his   
hair, just as Melanie had done a few nights ago   
but she leaned over and kissed his brow.   
She backed away, letting him sleep. She sat down   
decorously at the other end of the couch and   
reached for a thick FBI casefile that she had   
borrowed from the X-Files and her mug. She   
balanced the mug on the arm of the couch and   
opened the file. Pulling her wire-rimmed reading   
glasses out of her shirt pocket, she looked over   
at Doggett again before putting them on. She   
smiled, shook her head again, slipped on her   
glasses and started reading as music continued to   
quietly filter out of the stereo speakers.   
Later still...   
"...Pieces of us die everyday   
As though our flesh were hell   
Such injustice, as children we are told   
That from God we fell..."   
He stirred. Heard music. Guitar. A woman singing   
passionately and sorrowfully and angrily all at   
the same time. Opened his eyes. Closed them again   
since the room was still fairly dark.   
"...Where are my angels?   
Where's my golden one?   
Where's my hope   
now that my heroes have gone?..."   
He had already downloaded three-quarters of the   
song before he remembered she hated Jewel.   
"...Some are being beaten   
Some are being born.   
And some can't tell the difference anymore..."   
He opened his eyes again. "Aw sh*t," he muttered   
under his breath, pulling his arm from underneath   
the blanket to rub his eyes. He blinked his eyes   
in hopes of forcing them to adjust to the dim   
lighting of the room.   
"... Amen   
Hallelujah   
Hallelujah."   
Doggett pushed the blankets off of himself.   
Turned his head and saw her sitting on the other   
end of the couch. She had bundled her hair up in   
its usual bun. But this bun was sloppy, held in   
place by a pen. Her glasses were sliding off her   
nose. So was the case file on her lap. Her arms   
were crossed tightly. Her head was bobbing like   
those obnoxious car ornaments with the oversized   
heads.   
Doggett looked at his watch. It was a quarter to   
eleven.   
He ran his hand over his face again, trying to   
wake up. It was so tempting to crawl back   
underneath the quilt and fall back asleep.   
It was so tempting to...   
You should wake her up and tell her to get her   
butt to bed and then get your own ass home   
Doggett thought as watched her sleep.   
His feet suddenly felt cold. He looked down and   
saw that she had taken off his boots. He looked   
at his black socks and grimaced when he saw a   
tiny hole in the one of the toes.   
As he pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and   
stood up, the next song came on. He frowned as he   
bent over her to take off her glasses. She must   
have put it on 'repeat'.   
"Spring sweet rhythm dance in my head   
Slip into my lover's hands   
Kiss me oh won't you kiss me now   
And sleep I would inside your mouth..."   
He folded them up and placed them on the coffee   
table. He took the case file from her and set   
them next to her glasses.   
"Don't be us too shy   
Knowing it's no big surprise   
That I will wait for you   
I will wait for no one but you..."   
He gently tugged at the pen until it was out of   
that knot of hair. He didn't notice the half-an-  
inch of dark brown roots, as her blond tresses   
fell around her heart shaped face. She needed her   
bangs trimmed but didn't have time so she had   
pushed them to the side of her face. He skimmed   
his fingers over a small crescent moon shaped   
scar on her forehead. He had been with her,   
sitting right next to her when she got that cut.   
Their first case together. She had bled on him.   
"...Look please lover lay down   
Spend this time with me   
Together share this smile   
Lover lay down..."   
He didn't recognize the song or the artist. He   
had meant to download 'The Space Between' by the   
Dave Matthews Band. He wasn't a big DMB fan   
himself. Thought his voice was grating. But he   
had heard her singing it one day when she thought   
she was in the office by herself. And he had   
teased her to death about it the rest of the day   
after she admitted she would "do Dave in a   
heartbeat."   
It was rare when he got the verbal upper hand   
with her.   
"Walk with me, walk with you   
Hold my hand your hands   
So much we have dreamed   
And you were so much younger   
Hard to explain that we are stronger..."   
He cautiously slid his hands underneath her upper   
legs while wrapping his other arm around her   
back. Lifting her was not a problem, she only had   
to be one-ten, one-fifteen tops. Making sure she   
stayed asleep on the other hand, could be a   
problem. Or could have been, but for once, she   
was sound asleep. Normally, a light sleeper, the   
nightmare days and sleepless nights had finally   
caught up with her.   
As with him.   
"A million reasons life to deny   
Let's toss them away   
See you and me we   
Lay down look see   
She and he   
By my lover's side   
Together share this smile   
Each other's tears to cry   
Together share this smile   
Lover lay down..."   
He sat down again on the couch and stretched out   
his arm for the afghan. He jumped a little when   
he heard her mutter something in her sleep and   
curl around him more. Her face was pressed   
against his chest. Not an entirely unpleasant   
sensation. One of her arms loosely embraced his   
waist. He could feel her breathing.   
He wrapped the quilt around each other and   
reached over to the small table next to couch and   
switched off the light.   
The noise of the lamp switch woke her briefly.   
She bolted straight up, disoriented. Doggett said   
quickly, seeing that she wasn't one-hundred   
percent awake; scared and confused. "It's okay,   
Doc. Look, please. Lay down," he tried to calm   
her. She was shaking from whatever torment her   
subconscious had given her. "Just lay down and go   
back to sleep, okay? Please?"   
"Oh please   
Look please lover lay down   
Oh please lover lay down   
And you weep   
Lover lay down   
Cause it's over   
Lover lay down   
Say lover, say lover, say lover, say lover, say   
lover..."   
"Oh..." she said groggily, overtired and a more   
than just a little intoxicated from the beers   
earlier and her spiked coffee afterwards. Her   
hand was on his chest "Okay..." Sleepily, she   
brushed her lips across his before settling back   
into his arms. "Love you..." he thought he heard   
her say as she yawned. He thought. Maybe. Maybe   
she said "Olive juice." He wasn't sure.   
"G'night..." she mumbled before sinking back into   
deep sleep.   
"Could I love you   
Could you love me..."   
Doggett on the other hand, fought sleep but   
couldn't. For once in his life, he wasn't sure if   
dreams would be better than reality.   
And he wondered if her photographic memory had   
powered down for the night or would she have   
total recall in the morning.   
"Darling it's   
All the same...   
'Til we dance away..."   
And would she tell him if she remembered.   
"Chasing me all around   
Leading me all around   
Leading me all around in circles...   
Say..."   
He stroked her hair until he fell back asleep.   
"Love you too..." he slurred, also still drunk   
off of alcohol and insomnia.   
The agents thought they were alone in each   
other's arms.   
They should have known better even though both   
were technically rookies still in the basement   
that would always be Mulder's domain.   
As they slept, both had strange dreams. Dreams   
that they would brush off once the sun rose on   
their intertwined bodies. Dreams they would try   
and disregard as they muttered their excuses and   
apologies for something that did not feel wrong.   
Dreams about the dead, walking with them and   
talking with each other.   
Dreams about Benjamin Starkweather, materializing   
in his old living room, looking down at his   
wife's face, so calm, so peaceful in another   
man's arms. The man she swore up and down was   
just her 'friend'.   
But Ben did not show any rage as he did in life.   
Only a sad acceptance of the inevitable.   
A man's voice came from behind Ben. A high,   
slightly effeminate voice. Ben turned away from   
the painful image of Jerilyn looking so   
comfortable in her partner's embrace and saw the   
spirit of a tall slender man with mocha eyes and   
straight black hair. "You okay?" He had a lush,   
slurring Southern accent.   
"Yeah, you bet," Ben morosely lapsed into   
'Minnesotan', the dialect of his childhood. "I'll   
be okay. 'Bout you?"   
"I worry 'bout Mel... but, other'n that, I'm   
gonna fine." Parker Davis nodded. "Thank you for   
helpin'. You didn't have to..."   
"Yeah, I did," Ben said, turning back to Jerilyn.   
"I owed her at least that."   
"I gotta go," Parker said, almost apologetically.   
"Melanie..."   
"Go," Ben tried to smile. "It'll be okay."   
Ben thought he had been left alone again. Left   
alone to stare at her, stare at the moonlight   
glinting off the holy medal of Saint Christopher   
around her neck. Stare at him. Wishing he had the   
energy to hate him still, but couldn't. Wondered   
what was going to become of him, this limbo he   
had been thrust in when the bullets meant for   
Mulder ripped through his body.   
"Mister?"   
Ben looked down and saw a little boy with a   
button nose, aquamarine eyes and tousled blond   
hair looking up at him. "Yeah?"   
"Who's that lady with my daddy?"   
Ben knelt to the child's level. "Um... she's a   
very good friend of your daddy's."   
"Where's my mom?"   
"I... I don't know." Ben felt something he   
thought had been denied to him due to Jerilyn's   
stubbornness and ambition. "But I bet we can find   
her. And see her."   
"Is my daddy with that lady now and not my mom?"   
"Yeah," Ben said truthfully. "I'm sorry. But   
she's a really nice lady... What's your name?"   
"Luke John Doggett," the boy said politely. "Do   
you know when my dad's coming home?"   
"It's gonna be awhile."   
"I want him to come home now."   
"I know, but he's got work to do here, still."   
"Can you stay with me until he comes?"   
Ben took the child's hand. "Yes. I will," Ben   
said.   
Finally, he got to be a father.   
In the spirit, anyway.   
**THE END**  
Keep an eye out for the next Starkweather fic,   
'Starkweather: Introitus' 


End file.
